


Fox's Quest

by Lynda Sappington (HowNovel)



Series: The StarFamily Trilogy [3]
Category: Starman (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1989-02-10
Updated: 1989-02-10
Packaged: 2017-11-20 18:47:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 26,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/588524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HowNovel/pseuds/Lynda%20Sappington
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Summary for series:  Paul, Jenny and Scott finally become a whole family. But will it last with Fox still on their trail?</p><p>Part 3: Fox's Quest  </p><p>All too soon the quiet life Paul, Jenny and Scott have established for themselves in a small town is disrupted when Paul is recognized as photographer Paul Forrester. On the run again they are betrayed by one person and helped by another. Scott's developing abilities, and empathy are put to the test.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fox's Quest

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to Desertgal, Cheryl and Candi -- I couldn't do it without you guys!
> 
> This story is dedicated to Desertgal and her father, Alex. Without Desertgal's consistently dedicated, highly detailed assistance, including a notated map of the state of Washington (okay, Cuz, "the OTHER Washington"!) and many photos of her hometown of Parker, this story would not have been possible. I've never had the opportunity to see the Pacific Northwest, myself. Someday, my "Cuz" is gonna show me around her pride and joy, the great state of Washington. Thanks, Cuz. I hope you enjoy this!
> 
> The Teapot Dome Service Station mentioned in the story is a real place, and is on the National Register of Historic Places. It's located in Zillah WA, between Wapato and the Tri-Cities area.
> 
> The other two stories of THE STAR FAMILY TRILOGY, "Pas de Deux" (Part I), and "An Honest Woman" (Part II), are on this site.

Fox's Quest  
A STARMAN Story  
by Lynda Sappington  
Part III of "The Star Family Trilogy"

 

Copyright February 1989 by Lynda B. Sappington. "Fox's Quest" is a non-profit, amateur publication written for the enjoyment of STARMAN fans, and is not meant to infringe upon copyrights held by Henerson-Hirsch and Michael Douglas Productions, Columbia Pictures Television, or ABC-TV.

Material contained herein may not be copied or reproduced without the express permission of the author.

Fox's Quest

by Lynda Sappington

George Fox was ready to tear out his already-thinning hair trying to convince his bosses in Washington DC that he'd found the trail of his alien again. The infrared satellite photos of Mount Hawthorne showed an intense burst of heat and energy where there should be nothing of the kind since the volcano had been quiet for several months. Fox was sure the tremendous amount of energy revealed on the photos had to come from his quarry somehow. However, General Wade and his committee had been convinced by the seismologists' reports that it was the result of some minor interior volcanic activity. "Just a hot spot in the volcano," Fox was told. He knew better. There had to be a way to convince them to give him the money and manpower he needed to go investigate the activity at Mount Hawthorne. He paced back and forth agitatedly in his office, consuming cup after cup of black coffee, frantically racking his brain for some way to convince his superiors to support his search.

"Mr. Fox?" Wylie began hesitantly, wary as always of interrupting Fox's train of thought.

"Yes, what is it now, Wylie?" Fox answered irritably.

"These enhanced satellite photos from later in the day show that heat again. The seismologists say it's just more of the same," Wylie said apologetically. "I thought you'd want to know."

"Yes, thank you, Wylie," Fox sighed. He collapsed in the chair behind his desk and put his head in his hands. His mind was going in circles, trying to find an angle to use to convince General Wade that it was Paul Forrester, not volcanic activity, causing the strange energy reading.

As Wylie quietly headed for the door, Fox suddenly looked up. "Wylie?" he began.

"Yes, sir?"

"Don't we have a little money left in the budget from that satellite photo project we had to do with Wright-Patt?" He was referring to a spy satellite study he'd done at Wright-Patterson Air Force Base near Dayton, Ohio, which was the last place he'd seen the alien.

"Yes, sir, we do, but..." Wylie began.

Fox snapped his fingers. "That's it. That's our angle. We've been assigned to study satellite photos, and that's all this case is too." Fox grinned triumphantly, as he bounced out of his chair and headed for the door. "Get our travel orders ready, Wylie. We're going to Seattle again," Fox called as he dashed into the hallway.

"Yes, sir," Wylie said tiredly, not looking forward to another whirlwind trip. He and Fox seemed to always be either getting on or off an airplane somewhere. Wylie felt he lived with constant jet-lag. He knew better than to mess up their travel orders, so he squared his shoulders with determination and went over the checklist in his mind, doing his best not to miss any necessary details.  
  
---  
  
"Paul?" Jenny called out the back door. "Are you ready for lunch?"

Paul looked up from the flowerbed he was cultivating. He wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand, leaving a dirty streak on his face. "Any time, Jenny," he answered with a smile.

Jenny chuckled fondly at the boyish grin shining through the dirt on his handsome face. She knew he really loved working in the yard and making things grow. Since he'd learned a little about gardening their yard was becoming beautiful. He seemed to have a special touch with plants, just as he did with animals. Jenny was constantly amazed at how he could calm or quiet any animal, tame or wild. The birds in the yard often would come right up to him as he sat quietly watching them. The plants he tended seemed to respond in a similar way to his special touch, growing lush and beautiful much more quickly than their neighbors' plants. When people stopped to admire their flowers and vegetables, they always asked what fertilizer and weed killers the Forresters used, and Jenny had to laugh when Paul innocently answered, "None." To the neighbors' puzzled looks, Jenny said, "He just has a green thumb. Plants seem to like him." The first time this happened Paul looked at his hands in wonder as the neighbors shook their heads in amusement at the Forresters' goofy humor.

"Honey, be sure to wash before..." Jenny began as she turned to go back inside the house. She stopped speaking because Paul had snuck up behind her and grabbed her, nuzzling her neck with his sweaty face. "Paul, you're getting me filthy!" she squealed through her laughter.

"Haven't I told you before 'Love me, love my dirt'? Woman, you don't listen!" he teased.

"I love you, and I love your dirt, but... Yuck, Paul! You're sweaty!"

"I know, and you love it!" he responded playfully, dancing away from her as she tried to pop his backside with her dishtowel.

"Correction, Mr. Forrester. I love you, not your sweat! Go wash!"

He flung up his hands in mock surrender and went inside to clean up.  
  
---  
  
"Mmmm. What's this?" Paul asked with his mouth really too full for understandable speech.

"You're just as bad as Scott, sometimes! Wait until your mouth is empty before you speak!"

"Then I might forget what I wanted to ask you," he answered with wide eyes and an innocently quirked eyebrow.

"You know you have never forgotten anything. You have a photographic memory or something," Jenny scolded.

"I knew that," he replied smugly. "I was just teasing you. I'm developing a real sense of humor, don't you think?" he added proudly.

"Yes, I guess you are," she responded with a fond smile. "To answer your question, that's a spinach and avocado salad with vinaigrette dressing. The dressing is made with rice vinegar and Roquefort cheese. Isn't it good? Mrs. Blake told me about it."

"It's delicious. Almost as good as a hamburger," he said with a mischievous grin.

"You're just full of sillies today, aren't you?"

"Sillies? Me?" he said with a great show of surprise. He reached over and took Jenny's hand in his. "It's nice here, isn't it?"

"Yes, it is. I'm glad we've had a chance to live peacefully for a change. Scott's just blossoming here. I'm so glad he's popular at school, and doing well in his classes. It's great to see him come home happy and relaxed every day. I hope we can make it last."

"Me, too. I was thinking..."

"As Scott says," Jenny interrupted with a laugh, "I've never known you not to be thinking!"

"As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted," Paul continued with a playful grin, "I was thinking this would be a nice day to go hiking in the hills. It will be cooler there, and it's such a beautiful day. It's been a long time since Scott and I were on the road. I kind of miss hiking, in a way."

"That sounds like fun, Paul. I'll fix a picnic to take with us, if you want."

"Great! I'll find Scott and see if he wants to go along. Good lunch, honey. Thanks," he said, leaning over to kiss her as he got up from the table. "He's at Brad's shooting baskets, isn't he?"

"Yes, I think he is."

"Okay. I'll find him."  
  
---  
  
Paul, Jenny and Scott had lived in Parker, Washington for several months now, ever since Paul and Jenny had gotten married in the cavern Paul had created at the base of Mount Hawthorne. Their lives had been peaceful and uneventful. Jenny had continued her art work, doing illustrations and covers for science fiction and fantasy books. Paul had been working at a new and used book store in the nearby town of Wapato. Scott was enjoying an on-going normal school life for the first time in years. They had made a few friends, and had been grateful that Paul hadn't been recognized by anyone. They knew it couldn't last forever, but they relished each tranquil day they had.  
  
---  
  
"I know these photos were taken months ago. They still need to be investigated, sir," Fox argued. His travel request had been denied, and he was trying desperately to have it restored.

General Wade was keeping a tight rein on Fox's activities, attempting to keep expenditures within reason. He sighed, steepling his fingers in front of his chin as he rocked back in his chair. "You'd do anything to be able to chase that alien again, wouldn't you?" he said in disgust. "You've cost the taxpayers enough money on that wild goose chase. You're in satellite photo analysis now, George, and don't you forget it!"

Fox took a deep breath and exhaled it slowly, trying to calm himself so he could continue this discussion rationally. "Sir, these are satellite photos we're speaking of right now. There's an anomaly there which I feel deserves investigation."

"The seismologists' report..." General Wade began.

"Is inconclusive," George finished for him. "The heat shown on the infrared might be volcanic hot spots, or it could be other things. It should be checked out, sir. The heat was so concentrated and lasted such a short time, it wasn't at all like normal volcanic activity. There were no ground signals -- earthquakes or harmonic tremors which accompany volcanic activity. You can see the seismologists put that in their report, too."

The General sighed. He knew he could give George a direct order to stop worrying about these particular photos, but Fox had been right about his hunches more often than he'd been wrong. Wade decided it was easier and more cost-efficient of his own time to let Fox go do his exploring than to contend with the man any longer. At least while Fox was in Washington State, things would be quiet around the office.

"Okay. You and Wylie go check out whatever you want. You have one week. Then you get back here and don't mention these hot spots again, do you hear me?"

"Yes, sir, oh, yes, I do understand. Thank you, General, thank you very much. We'll be leaving as soon as possible. Thank you, sir," Fox blurted out in a rush as he gathered his photos, reports and other material from the conference table. He headed for the door quickly, before the General could change his mind.

"George."

Fox stopped at the door and turned back to face General Wade apprehensively. "Yes, sir?"

"This had better be good, or you'll be back to analyzing Third World food supplies. Is that clear?"

"Yes, sir," Fox said in a small voice. "Is that all, sir?"

"You're dismissed. Have a safe trip."

"Thank you, sir," Fox replied as he hurried out the door.  
  
---  
  
Paul was alone at work in the book store. The only customer was a woman who was browsing among the books, apparently searching for something particular.

"May I help you?" Paul asked.

"I'm looking for a picture book for my husband's birthday," she replied. "He'd like one with photos of the Vietnam War. I'll never understand men. He used to not want to think about the war at all. Now that he seems to have finally gotten over it, he wants to remember it."

"Our military history section is over here," Paul indicated. "The books on the war in Vietnam are on these two shelves. There are also some used books on the subject in the back."

The woman looked up at Paul. What a waste, she thought, for such a nice-looking man to be hidden away in a bookstore in a little backwater town like Wapato -- he should be on television. Maybe he had been at some time. His face was somehow familiar to her. He certainly was better-looking than the news anchors on any of the stations she could get, and he had such a lovely, warm voice. She sighed. She could remember the one or two years she had considered herself to be pretty, twenty years and forty pounds ago or so, but even then, she would never have attracted a man who looked like this one. Oh, well. She could always enjoy looking, she thought with a smile, and he was very nice. She could see he seemed to need to get back to work. He still held several books in his hands from the display he'd been assembling when he stopped to help her.

"Well, thanks for your help. I honestly don't know why you men are so interested in seeing those gory photos, but it seems all of you enjoy them," she said as she bustled over to the bookshelves.

"Not all of us," Paul said quietly as he turned away to finish the display he'd been working on.

The customer looked at the books on the shelves, and laid two aside on a table to look at more carefully. As she opened them and noticed the prices, a frown creased her pudgy forehead. They were more expensive than she had expected. Suddenly she remembered that nice salesman saying there were some used books in the back that might suit her needs, so she headed for the back of the store.

Paul glanced up from his work occasionally as the woman moved around to see if she needed any help. She appeared to be content for the moment, so he didn't bother her. Paul was just finishing the display when a shout from the customer startled him.

"I knew it! I knew it!" she cried in delight, turning and hurrying toward the front of the store, a book clutched tightly in her hands. She stopped in front of Paul. "What's your name, sir?" she asked coyly.

"Paul Forrester," he answered in confusion.

"I knew it! I knew you didn't look like you belonged in a place like this!" she declared triumphantly.

"I beg your pardon?"

"This is you! You're Paul Forrester! You're him! He's you!" she declared, holding the book out to show Paul. "I knew I'd seen you on TV. I used to watch every interview you did, then you stopped doing them. Why?" The woman was bursting with excitement, hugging the book close to her ample bosom once more.

Paul looked at her, a stunned expression on his face. He could see the woman was clutching IN THE EYE OF THE STORM, the book for which the other Paul Forrester had won a Pulitzer Prize. Forrester's photo was on the back of the book jacket. He had never noticed it among the used books before, but the books on war disturbed him, so he avoided them.

"Why aren't you on TV anymore?" the woman insisted.

"I haven't done any more books," he replied, hoping she would be satisfied and not push him any further.

"Why not? You do beautiful work!"

"Thank you. I just haven't felt like doing a book, I guess."

"And another thing...why are you working in a bookstore instead of out taking pictures? That doesn't make any sense at all! You're the best photo journalist in the world! You should be taking pictures in Afghanistan, or Mexico, or somewhere. This isn't like you at all," she continued, shaking her finger under his nose. She disapproved of Paul's not working at his photography, and she wasn't shy about letting him know it.

Paul was troubled by the woman's attitude. She obviously was what Scott had told him was a 'fan' of Paul Forrester's work. Some people admired his work, others were disturbed by it, still others became 'fans' of him or his work. These fans were often possessive or demanding, which was quite disconcerting for Paul. It was all, as usual, the other Paul Forrester's fault. His flamboyant lifestyle caused people to expect Paul to act a certain way, which was not natural to him as it had been to the other Paul Forrester.

"I often take breaks from photography and do other things. It's how I choose to live," he explained quietly.

"Well, with a talent like yours, I can't see you working in a little shop like this in a tiny town like Wapato."

"I like it here," Paul answered pleasantly. "When something interesting turns up, I'll go back to photography."

The woman was somewhat mollified, then became embarrassed at how forward she'd been with Paul, giving him advice and scolding him about not pursuing his photography. She smiled up at him sheepishly. "I'm sorry I came on so strong before. It's just that I have great admiration for people with talent, and I hate to see it wasted."

"It's not being wasted. It's just... resting," Paul reassured her with a smile.

"Well... okay. You are going back to it sometime, aren't you?"

"Probably."

"Okay, then." She stood studying him for a moment, then looked at the photo on the book jacket. "You look different than your photo somehow. I can't put my finger on it, but..."

"Well, that's an old photo," Paul replied hurriedly. Whenever people saw him and compared him to a photo of the other Paul Forrester, they always noticed a softer, more gentle expression on his face, and a different quality in his eyes. He tried to avoid such close scrutiny. "Have you found a book you like?" he asked, trying to divert her attention.

"I'll take your book, thank you very much!" she said emphatically. "Could I talk you into autographing it for me?"

"Sure," he agreed. He couldn't see any easy way out of it. He just wanted to hurry the woman on her way before things got any more complicated.

"Thank you so much, Mr. Forrester. This book isn't going to be my husband's, it's going to be mine! Sign it...let's see...'To Helen Thorpe. Love ya, Paul Forrester.' Something like that. Okay?"

"Okay." Paul couldn't bring himself to write 'Love ya' to a stranger. He knew he only loved Jenny and Scott. She had said, 'Something like that', so he autographed the book, "To Helen Thorpe, Best Wishes, Paul Forrester".

The woman paid for the book, then bustled out of the store, hugging her book in delight, giggling and talking to herself as she went. "Just wait till the girls hear who I met today!" she chortled.

Paul groaned. He could see he was going to have to quit this job immediately, or the whole town would be stopping by to see the 'celebrity' in their midst. It was too bad, too. He really liked the job, and his employer. Scott was so happy in school and enjoying his new friends, but Wapato was too small to stay "low-profile" in, even if Paul got another job. He hated to uproot his family, but could see no alternative.  
  
---  
  
The helicopter landed a short distance from the base of the mountain. Fox and Wylie jumped out, followed by Air Force technicians armed with various types of equipment.

"Check this entire area, but have your men concentrate on this side of the base of the mountain, Captain," Fox ordered.

"Yes, sir," the officer replied, hurrying up the ravine behind his men.

Fox stood with his arms folded across his chest, a pensive look on his face. "There may be nothing to find here, Wylie," he began, "but then again..."

Several hours later, the Air Force captain reported to Fox. "Sir?" he began, "we haven't found anything out of the ordinary. The ground in the area seems basically undisturbed. No excavations or digging of any kind have shown up, except for a few scratches here and there where you can tell hikers picked up samples of ash in small containers. There's no evidence of volcanic activity reaching the surface, but it's rare if it does. There are no recent breaks in the ground. We observed a number of footprints, in various sizes. A lot of people hike up here. The Geiger counters and other monitoring devices show no energy or radioactivity in the area. Everything looks normal. Is there anything else you'd like us to do here?"

Fox sighed deeply, taking a moment to calm himself. He had expected the results the captain had just reported, but he'd also hoped for some kind of lead to show up.

"Thank you, Captain Patterson. If you've run all the tests you can, I guess there's nothing left for us to do here. Thank you for your time and trouble."

"Happy to cooperate, sir. The men appreciate the opportunity to work with their equipment in the field instead of just practicing with it in exercises. The experience has been good for them. If you're ready to go, sir, we'll pack up."

"Fine, go ahead," Fox replied with a defeated sigh. He rubbed his face tiredly. He knew General Wade would consider the case closed for good now. When he turned away from the chopper, he saw the ever-faithful Wylie standing patiently by, waiting for Fox's next order. "Wylie, get on the chopper radio and see if you can get us a return flight from Seattle today."

"Yes, sir," Wylie replied, hustling to obey.

As the Air Force personnel loaded the equipment back on the chopper, Fox wandered up the ravine, thinking aloud as he went.

"You were here, Forrester, I can feel it," he growled. "I can't prove it, but I know you were here. You must have hidden your spaceship when you first arrived, and it was probably somewhere nearby. The last location reported for the chopper Forrester was in wasn't that many miles from here. Why would you come back to your spaceship? The boy probably wouldn't survive on your planet, since he is half-human, so you probably didn't go home. I can't believe you'd leave him here alone, either. You must have needed something from your ship. What did you need, Forrester? Are you sick? Is your body wearing out? Were you signaling your leaders, telling them to come here? What are you up to now?" Fox was grinding his teeth in frustration as he tried to figure out what could have happened.

Without knowing it, he had stopped directly above the Starman's spacecraft. He had a strong feeling that he was close to a breakthrough on his quest for the alien, but he couldn't pin down what caused the feeling, or what to do next. He looked around the canyon, his gaze eventually resting on the wall under the rocky ledge. Why was he so positive Forrester had been here? He didn't know, but he was certain of the feeling. He glanced back toward the chopper and noticed the equipment was nearly loaded. Stamping a foot in useless frustration, Fox turned away from the wall where Paul had created the crystal cavern for his wedding to Jenny, and headed back to the chopper. "I know I was close this time," he muttered in bitter disappointment. "I know it. I'll get you yet, Forrester."  
  
---  
  
Scott was surprised when an office assistant came to his room during the next to last class of the day, saying his father was there to pick him up.

"Dad? What's up?" he asked when he saw Paul in the office.

"Come on, son, I'll tell you as we go."

"What is it?" the boy insisted as they headed for his locker.

"We've got to leave," Paul told Scott regretfully as they walked quietly down the school corridor.

Scott knew from his father's face and voice what he meant. "Not Fox again!" he exclaimed in horror. "Is Mom okay?"

"She's fine, Scott," Paul reassured his son.

"Then what happened?" Scott exclaimed. "No, don't tell me. I don't want to know right now." He studied the anxious expression on Paul's face, then shook his head impatiently and rubbed at his face, trying to keep his expression calm. The hall was filling with students changing classes.

"Hey, Scott, want to come over later?" his friend, Brad, asked.

"Can't today, Brad. Gotta go do some stuff with my folks. Thanks anyway," Scott said as he leaned into his locker, gathering up his things.

"Okay," Brad agreed easily. "Maybe tomorrow. Hey, Mr. Forrester, how's your garden doing?"

"Just fine, Brad. You tell your parents they're welcome to anything in it. There are a lot of things ready to pick, more than we can use," Paul said with a crooked smile. He got such pleasure from his garden -- he hated to leave it. He hoped Brad and his family would keep his produce from going to waste.

"Sounds good to me. We'll be over soon. Gotta run, or I'll be late to class. Catch ya later!" Brad called with a cheery wave.

"Yeah, later," Scott answered in a muffled voice. He sighed deeply as he straightened up to see if the hallway was clear yet. He took all his belongings from the locker and closed it quietly, resting his hand against the cold metal and looking up at the photos of past graduating classes decorating the walls. He'd hoped one day to be part of one of those photos. Squaring his thin shoulders, Scott started down the hallway, staring straight ahead, feeling like a soldier on his way to meet the firing squad. Near the entrance, he couldn't keep himself from looking into a classroom door he was passing. A pretty blond grinned and waved at him. It was his girlfriend, Cheryl Turner. They'd been going together for several months. He'd met her when he'd started school there near the end of the previous school year. After a quick, crooked grin in her direction, he followed his father out the door to their car. His eyes burned with unshed tears. He didn't even get to speak to her, to tell her how he felt about her, that he didn't want to leave. He didn't get to hold her and kiss her one last time...to tell her goodbye -- just like when he'd had to quit in the middle of his race to escape Fox, leaving Kelly with no explanation, no goodbye. He sat in the car and ducked his head, trying to hide his feelings from his dad.

"Scott?" Paul said quietly as he started the engine. He glanced at the boy in concern as he drove off the school grounds. Scott always hated being uprooted, but this time Paul could tell he was taking it much harder than usual. "I'm sorry, son," he said, putting his hand comfortingly on the boy's shoulder.

"Don't worry about it, Dad, I know whatever happened couldn't be helped. Could we please not talk about it for awhile?" Scott's voice was strained as he struggled to maintain his tenuous hold on his self-control.

They drove the rest of the way home in silence. Each struggled to be strong to help the other one deal with their situation, as they had so many times before.

 

Jenny knew something was wrong as soon as she saw her men come through the door. Their expressions and unexpectedly early arrival home telegraphed a clear message -- it was time to go. "What happened, Paul?"

"A woman came into the shop and found Paul Forrester's book in the used book section. I didn't even know it was there. I guess Jack had never noticed it, or I probably would have been recognized sooner," Paul said wearily as he busied himself in the kitchen cabinets with once again choosing essentials to take in their duffle bags.

"She recognized you?" she asked anxiously. "Yes, I'd say she did," Paul sighed. "She scolded me for working there instead of doing photography, and she asked me to autograph the book. She used to watch Paul Forrester whenever he was interviewed on television. She left the shop talking to herself about telling her friends who she met today."

"Oh, no," Jenny said, aghast.

"Oh, yes. We have to get out of here as soon as possible, I'm afraid. I'm sorry. I know how much you both like Parker." He paused, looking pensively out the window at the rolling hills in the distance. His gaze rested on the snow-covered peak of Mt. Adams on the horizon, then fell on the neat rows of his vegetable garden and the colorful, happy profusion of the flowers he'd tended so carefully through the heat of summer. The fall flowers were full of fat buds ready to burst into bloom. He sighed deeply, sorry he'd never see them in their full beauty, sad that the blue and gold irises he'd planted would be blooming without him being around to enjoy them next spring. "We've been so happy here," he said quietly.

"As long as we're together, nothing else matters, Dad," Scott said, squeezing his father's arm reassuringly.

"Scott's right. Don't worry about it. We've started over many times before. At least this time we're starting over together," Jenny said as she smoothed his thick dark hair back from his face, trying to comfort him with her touch. She looked around her cozy kitchen. She'd spent many happy hours in its blue and peach warmth, painting her pictures, cooking, talking with her guys at the table. She shook her head impatiently. There would be other kitchens. She'd been without her family too long to let the loss of material things upset her. She'd do anything to stay with and protect her family. She tossed her hair back over her shoulders in that determined way Paul loved. "At least we don't have to race Fox this time. It will probably be a while before word gets to him that we were here."

"But he will hear about it sometime," Paul replied with a sigh. He took Jenny's hand in his from where it rested tenderly on his cheek and gently kissed her palm before turning sad eyes to hers.

"I love you, Paul. We'll be all right." She wrapped her arms around his slim waist and hugged him tightly, then took his hand in hers and started out of the kitchen. "Come on, let's pack."

Paul looked at his wife and son, love for them shining in his eyes. He let Jenny lead him out of the room, his heart filled with a great sadness that he had to take his family away from a place they were happy to once again live by their wits on the road.  
  
---  
  
"I hope the car will hold up for awhile, to give us a head start," Paul worried as they left the driveway. "It's been acting up. Jack's brother offered to look at it for me this weekend."

"It'll be fine, Paul. If it quits, we'll walk. We've done it before," Jenny said reassuringly.

"You've never been on the road with us before, Jenny. It can be pretty uncomfortable sometimes. We've often gone hungry, and been cold and wet a lot. I don't want you to have to go through that," Paul said, glancing anxiously at Jenny.

"I told you when I ran before I slept in the car, or truck, whatever I was driving, when I had to. I've gone hungry before too. Don't worry about me, honey. I'll keep up with you and Scott."

"You'd better, or we'll carry you, and that could be really painful for you and us both!" Scott teased, trying to lighten his parents' mood.

Jenny reached around to the back seat and playfully ruffled her son's hair. "We've been living quietly too long anyway," she said. "It was time we had an adventure!"

"Adventure. Right," Scott muttered under his breath. He waved to his friend Brad, who was shooting baskets in his driveway. A sad smile crossed his face as Brad waved back cheerfully while spinning the basketball on his finger. Friends like Brad had been rare in Scott's life. He felt a sting of tears in his eyes as they turned a corner and Brad's house disappeared from view. He sighed deeply and blinked hard to control his emotions, then sat back and tried to think of nothing until the pain of leaving diminished.

A few miles down the road, they drove by Wapato, on the highway which skirted the edge of town. As they passed the high school on the far side of town, Scott's heart turned over inside him. There on the tennis court was Cheryl, her long blond hair in a ponytail which bounced gaily as she raced to return the ball. He watched her stop and laugh as she missed her stroke, then turn suddenly, obviously recognizing Paul's car as it passed by. Scott fought back tears and smiled bravely at her when she waved at him. He returned her wave, then turned and watched her out the back window until he could no longer see her. He folded his arms on the seat back, still turned toward the rear of the car, and dropped his head on his arms in despair. Scott felt as if a giant vice was squeezing his heart. He'd be more careful about letting people get close to him the next time they stopped for awhile. It hurt too much when they had to leave.

It had amazed Paul to find that as Scott grew older and his control of the sphere improved, other powers and abilities had also been developing in the boy. Only a few months before, father and son had been playfully racing each other down a deserted road, when Paul had suddenly stumbled over a rough place in the pavement, spraining his ankle. Scott was beating his father in the race and didn't see him fall, but stopped and grabbed his own suddenly painful, but uninjured ankle. He was responding to his father's startling severe pain empathetically. An even more surprising thing to Paul was that he could sense Scott's physical and emotional state without touching him as the boy's powers increased. With other people, Paul could usually only sense their feelings by touching them directly.

Since he could feel Scott's pain, he knew what the boy was going through because of having to leave his friends so suddenly, without even being able to say goodbye. He glanced in the rear-view mirror, sharing the boy's agony and wishing there was some way to comfort him. They'd been through this same scene so many times before, but it never got any easier. He knew Scott would have to deal with it himself. Paul wished he could somehow ease the pain, but he knew this kind of suffering was something he couldn't heal.

Jenny glanced at Paul and was surprised at the unusually grim set of his mouth. Seeing him glance in the mirror, she turned to look at Scott. Her son was so near to being a man, sometimes she forgot how young he still was. She understood his pain too. She'd lived with the same kind of agony for years.

"Scott?" she said quietly.

He didn't reply, but his back stiffened.

"Scott?" his mother repeated.

"Yeah," he answered without turning, his voice muffled by his arms.

"Honey, I'm so sorry. I know it hurts."

"I know, Mom."

"I wish there was something..."

"I know. Dad and I have been through it a lot. It doesn't get any better with practice, that's all."

"I love you, son. I'm glad we're together this time."

Scott turned and looked at his mother, his tear-streaked face twisted in pain. He hesitated a moment then leaned up toward Jenny's seat, resting his head on her shoulder. "Me too," he said shakily.

Jenny turned more in her seat so she could hold Scott. She cradled his head on her shoulder and stroked his curly hair, comforting him the only way she knew how until he quieted and relaxed against her.

Paul drove on in silence, grateful that Jenny was there to help Scott. He sensed the tension gradually leaving his son as Jenny comforted him. Smiling tenderly at Jenny when she glanced at him, he was thankful that if they had to run, at least they weren't running in different directions anymore.  
  
---  
  
Fox and Wylie were in Seattle's airport lounge, waiting for their flight back to Washington, DC. The television nearby was broadcasting a local news program. The two agents watched tiredly, wishing something interesting would be reported to relieve the boredom caused by endless reports of garage fires, local dignitaries cutting ribbons, and the drought. Their attention was diverted by the sound of excited voices behind them.

"Helen, that just can't be! Not in Wapato!" a woman said in disbelief.

"I tell you, it was him! See his autograph? That's him, right there on the cover." The speaker sounded like she was preening in front of her friend, full of her own self-importance.

As the two middle-aged women, one pudgy with shadows of past attractiveness, the other painfully thin and plain-looking, sat near them, carrying on their animated discussion, Fox's glance of resignation met Wylie's amused one. Wylie quickly wiped the smile from his face until Fox looked away.

"Well, tell me everything. Don't leave anything cut. You're absolutely certain it was him?" the plain-looking one asked excitedly.

"Positive! And is he gorgeous! His photo doesn't do him justice at all, Sarah. And he's sweet and charming too. This is one special man, let me tell you," the woman chortled. "If I weren't such a lady, I'd have..." Her face lit with mischief, she whispered something in her friend's ear which caused both of them to go off in gales of delighted laughter.

Fox leaned back in his chair, rolling his eyes and groaning at having to listen to this kind of drivel.

Wylie leaned forward in his seat, resting his elbows on his knees, smiling again at the antics of the fluttery, flustered woman as she told her friend what she seemed to consider a thrilling tale.

"Oh, it was so exciting!" the woman bubbled. "I've shopped in that bookstore for years, but I hadn't been in for a few months. No birthdays or anniversaries to shop for, you understand."

"Yes. Do go on, Helen," her friend encouraged.

"Well, I went in, looking for a picture book on the Vietnam War. My husband is a veteran, you know, and I thought he might like one for his birthday. When I went in, I noticed this very attractive man working on a display of some kind. I thought then what a shame it was that he wasn't on TV. He's much better-looking than any of the anchormen we have around here!"

"You can say that again," her friend agreed, leaning over to gaze appreciatively at the photo on the book in Helen's lap.

Wylie sat up straighter, hoping to see the photo or the author's name, but the woman's bag hid the book cover from his view. He settled back in his chair, unabashedly enjoying his eavesdropping.

"Oh, yes. He has a lovely speaking voice, too. You know, he has the most beautiful blue eyes! Funny they don't always look blue when he's on TV or in photos." Helen paused a moment, her brow furrowed in thought. Shrugging, she fluttered her hands aimlessly as she continued. "Anyway, he told me there were some used books in the rear of the store, and I went back to see what I could find. I was thrilled, of course, to find IN THE EYE OF THE STORM. Did you know first editions of it have become quite valuable? And this is a first edition!" She sighed dreamily as she smoothed her pudgy hands over the photo on the book jacket. "I've always loved Paul Forrester's work. And for him to turn out to be so much more gorgeous in real life than in person! Well, let me tell you..."

At the sound of Forrester's name, Fox was across the waiting area like a shot to question the woman, leaving Wylie sitting stunned in his chair.

"Madame, excuse me, but I couldn't help but overhear -- did I hear you say you met Paul Forrester?" Fox said eagerly, but as charmingly as possible.

"Yes, I met him yesterday. What a lovely man! Do you know him?"

"We've met," Fox said with a wry grin. "Where exactly did you meet him?"

"In a little bookstore in Wapato. He's working there. Look, he autographed his book for me," she said with a pleased smile, delighted to have doubled her audience. "You know, he's so much nicer than I would ever have expected. From the impression he's always given me in his TV appearances, I thought he'd be more... more... I don't know, sarcastic, or irreverent or something. Finding him there, and him being so charming was a delightful surprise."

"I'm sure it was. Where, exactly, is Wapato?" he queried. By persistent efforts to keep the woman on track, Fox was able to find out the name of the book store and where Wapato was located.

"Are you going to see Mr. Forrester?" Helen asked hopefully.

"Yes, I expect I will. It's been some time since we've seen each other, and, since it's only about 160 miles away, I think I'll take the time to go see him."

"Tell him Helen Thorpe said 'Hello', and that I've brought his book with me to Seattle. As soon as Maggie's plane lands, we're going to go visit some old friends, and I knew they'd love to see his autograph."

"I'm sure he'll be happy to hear that. I must go now. Thank you for your help," Fox said with a warm smile. As he turned away from Helen, his smile grew cold and cruel. He'd get Forrester this time, he was certain.

"Wylie!" Fox called as he walked away from the still happily chattering women. He was shocked to find Wylie's chair empty. "Wylie?" he called, his eyes flashing around the terminal searching for his missing assistant.

Wylie strode purposefully toward his boss from the direction of the ticket counters. "I've already checked into how to get to Wapato, sir. It's kind of near Yakima. Transportation is being arranged now."

Fox was stunned by Wylie's unexpected efficiency. "Wylie, sometimes you amaze me. Good work."

"Thank you, sir," Wylie replied modestly.  
  
---  
  
"Officer, I need a description of their car and the license number," Fox was telling the deputy at the sheriff's office in Wapato.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Fox, but he isn't a resident of Wapato. We don't have any records on him here. Why don't you ask his employer?"

"I haven't been able to reach him yet. My assistant is still trying to get through to Mr. Baker. He's not home, and he's not at his store. I had hoped you would have some information," Fox replied, trying hard to maintain some degree of patience.

"I think I heard Jack Baker mention one time that Forrester lives in Parker," the officer offered.

Fox leaped on the information hungrily. "Parker? Where's that?"

"You came down from Yakima, didn't you?"

Fox nodded impatiently.

"Then, you drove right by Parker. It's on the way to Yakima from here."

Fox rubbed his hands together gleefully. He was close to Forrester now, he could feel it! "Thank you, Officer I'll try the police in Parker next."

"Well, you won't find any police to help you there. It's a pretty small town. Parker's on the Yakama reservation, like Wapato, so the Indian police and our office take care of things there, too. We don't know anything about your man, and I doubt the Indian police do either, unless he's been in some kind of trouble with them. Jack Baker at the book store would be your best bet, most likely."

"Thank you, Officer. We'll talk to Mr. Baker. Also, would you put out an APB on him? He's traveling with a teenaged boy named Scott. I'll give you their descriptions."

"Sure, that's no problem. What did this guy do that the Federal Government is after him, anyway?"

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," Fox replied grimly.

"Aw, come on, professional courtesy and all that. What's he done?"

"It's classified, and that's all I can say about it. Thank you for your time," Fox responded stiffly as he handed Paul and Scott's descriptions to the deputy and headed for the door.

"Sure," the deputy answered, scratching his head in bewilderment as he wondered what kind of crime could be classified. The guy must be some kind of a spy, he thought. He wished he could find out more, but knew it was impossible. He'd met Forrester in the bookstore. He seemed like such a pleasant, quiet man, the deputy couldn't imagine what criminal act he could possibly have done. The quiet ones always fooled you, though.  
  
---  
  
"So they told me to go to Parker and talk to the people in the post office. Parker is small enough that the post office employees know just about everybody, and should be able to tell us where Forrester lives," Wylie explained as they drove quickly out of Wapato. He'd finally found Jack Baker at a Lion's Club meeting in a restaurant. It had taken a lot of effort and skillful questioning of Baker's neighbors to track him down. The neighbors didn't know why the Federal Government would be looking for Jack, and seemed worried he might be in some kind of trouble. Wylie had been patient and friendly with each person he'd questioned. When he appeared to be non-threatening, they seemed more willing to help. Wylie had pieced together a picture of Parker from conversations with Baker and his neighbors, and had some idea of what lay ahead for him and Fox.

"No police force. No government, except for whatever the Indians have. Why would anyone want to live in a place like that?" Fox wondered aloud.

"Probably because there's no police force, no government, and because it's a small town where the neighbors all know each other and are friendly. There are some stores in town, and a couple of small manufacturing businesses, so it's probably not a bad place to live at all." Wylie thought Parker sounded like a place he'd enjoy living, too.

"I can't see living somewhere where there aren't any tennis courts, golf courses, movie theatres, libraries, whatever. Towns need those things to be livable," Fox said, shaking his head in puzzlement.

"Those things aren't important to everybody, sir," Wylie replied mildly.  
  
---  
  
"The Forresters? Oh, they're wonderful people," Eleanor told Fox. "She's an artist, you know. She paints the most beautiful pictures. I wish I could paint like that!"

"She?" Fox exclaimed, dumbfounded.

"Yes, Mrs. Forrester," Eleanor answered, her friendly smile fading. "I thought you said you knew them," she continued, her suspicions aroused.

"I hadn't heard Paul had gotten married, that's all. I wonder if he married that woman he went with a while ago. Was her name Jenny?" he asked carefully.

"I don't think I should tell you anymore. They want to live quietly. If you don't know them well enough to know they're married..."

"It's been a long time since I've seen Paul, that's all," Fox answered smoothly. "Now, where did you say they lived?" he asked with his most charming smile.

"I didn't, and I won't. If you want to contact them, send a letter here and I'll see that they get it. I don't give out information to strangers," Eleanor said coldly.

"I work for the Federal Government, and I can get a search warrant, a subpoena, anything I need to get the information from you. Now, are you going to cooperate, or do I have to get that paperwork? Things will go much more smoothly if you simply cooperate," he said, flashing his badge at her as he threatened her.

"I should turn you in for misrepresenting yourself to me. You should have shown me that badge in the first place," Eleanor said angrily.

"I thought a softer approach might work better with you, Madame. Would you have cooperated more quickly if I had shown it to you to begin with?"

"No," she said shortly.

"That's what I thought. Now, where do they live?"

"When you have a proper court order from the Federal Court in Yakima, then I'll talk with you. Not before." She crossed her arms and stared coldly at Fox, who was fuming in frustration.

"There's got to be more than one place to get information in this stinking little town," Fox growled as he stormed out of the post office. "Court order...Yakima... No way am I leaving this town without Forrester."

 

"They ain't home, I know that. I don't know where they went. A friend of mine up Wapato way heard yestiddy that he was that famous photographer. It's somethin' about him bein' famous, ain't it?" the garrulous old man said pushing his grimy baseball cap to the back of his head. He sat on his three-wheeled all-terrain vehicle, the basket filled with aluminum cans, a brown trickle running down his chin from the tobacco he was chewing in his toothless mouth. Otho O'Brien knew anything there was to know about anyone in Parker, and was always happy to find an attentive audience. He worked his chew around in his mouth and spat out a thick brown stream.

Wylie's face wrinkled in disgust as he turned aside from the repulsive sight before him. He watched Fox dance impatiently from one foot to the other, waiting for the man to settle down to talk again.

"It's something, all right. Tell me, what's his wife's name? I seem to have forgotten," Fox said smoothly.

"Why, it's Miz Forrester, of course!" the old man cackled, rubbing his hands with delight at his joke.

"Of course," Fox said with poorly-hidden irritation. "Which way would they probably go, do you know that?

"Towards Wapato, I reckon. That's where he works, so I hear and where the boy goes to school. The boy may've had a game today, or somethin'. They don't tell anybody their business! They keep to themselves, they do, but they're right friendly folks for all that." He wound up and spat again, wiping his chin with the back of one grimy hand. "What'cha want to see 'em for, anyway? You reporters or somethin'?"

"No, we're with the FSA," Fox replied tersely. He was getting tired of trying to be nice to all these people. He knew he was close to Forrester, and it was taking too long to get information out of people to suit him.

"FSA... FSA," the man mused, scratching his head as he tried to remember something. He snapped his fingers, a delighted look on his face. "I got it! You're those guys that big football player does commercials for! You delivery people dress right nice these days. Who's sending flowers to the Forresters?"

"Flowers?" Fox asked in confusion, turning a bewildered look on Wylie, who was trying desperately to maintain his dignity and not laugh.

"He thinks we're from FTD, sir," Wylie explained, choking back a chuckle.

"FTD? Flowers?" Fox's face cleared as he suddenly understood. "No, sir, we're with the Federal Security Agency. FSA."

"Security, huh? Are you'uns spies, or what?"

"We aren't spies. We work for a government agency which protects our country's security," Fox explained irritably.

"Then what do you want with the Forresters?" Otho asked with deliberate patience. This city feller just wasn't spilling the news fast enough to suit him.

"I need to speak with Mr. Forrester on a matter of national security. I can't tell you more than that. Do you have any more information about where we might find them?"

"Nope, reckon you're on your own there, fella. They never will even tell how they make their garden grow so well. Lots of folks ask 'em what kind of fertilizer they use, or whatever. The missus just says the mister has a green thumb. She says the plants just seem to like him. Guess maybe that's true. He's a likeable enough fella, kinda quiet, but nice, ya know?"

"Yes, I guess so. Thank you for your help, Mr. O'Brien."

"Always happy to meet new folks and pass the time of day, myself. You boys have a nice day, ya hear?" O'Brien replied, spitting another brown stream as he started his ATV down the read with a roar, his cracked cackle of laughter fading in the distance.

"Oh, great," Fox growled as he looked down at his shoes. "Wylie, do you have a handkerchief?" he asked, reaching an expectant hand out to where his assistant had been by his side.

Wylie had seen the old man deliberately aim his tobacco juice just a little too close to them, and had moved out of the line of fire before he got splattered too. When he saw Fox's shoes, Wylie wisely beat a quick retreat to the car waiting around the corner before Fox could say anything to stop him.

Fox threw up his hands in disgust and wiped his shoes on the grass before heading for the car. He shuddered to think of some of the people he had to deal with on this chase to capture Forrester. O'Brien had to be the worst of a bad lot.  
  
---  
  
"What do you think is wrong with it, Dad?" Scott asked anxiously as he and Paul peered under the hood of the stalled car.

"I don't know. It's been acting up off and on for several days. I told you before, I'm a navigator, not a mechanic!" Paul responded with a weary smile. He sighed deeply as he wiped his hands on the dried-up grass beside the road. "If only it were an electrical motor, I could fix it without worrying about it. I'm going to have to try to learn more about internal-combustion engines, I guess. They're so primitive, though," he muttered, shaking his head.

Scott looked at his dad, amusement lighting his eyes. "Primitive, huh? Well, I guess to you they probably are. What are we going to do now?"

"I guess we'll walk," Paul replied, grabbing their bags out 

"I'm glad I left my paintings with Eleanor," Jenny commented. "I'd hate to have to abandon all those hours of work out here in the desert!"

"What's she going to do, send them to your publisher?" Scott asked.

"She's going to hold them until I send for them. I sent the last completed ones off a few days ago. She's been such a good friend. I hope Fox doesn't give her any trouble."

"Yeah. He can be a real pain," Scott agreed, smiling grimly at his understatement.

They shouldered their burdens and headed southeast down the road, which paralleled the Yakima River and railroad. They knew they could find their way to the next town, even if they had to leave the roadway, if they stayed near the river. Since the area was arid, it was important to stay near the river for water. Staying near the road gave them the possibility of catching a ride, also.

That night, rolled up in blankets to ward off the night chill, Paul and Jenny gazed up at the stars as they listened to Scott's breathing deepen in sleep. Paul kissed Jenny's forehead as she nestled more comfortably on his shoulder.

"Are you warm enough?" he asked.

"Mmm-hmmm," she murmured sleepily, snuggling closer to his side.

Paul tightened his arm around her shoulders, gently tracing the curve of her cheek with his free hand. "I'm sorry we have to live this way, Jenny," he said softly.

Jenny turned her face up to look at him. The moonlight gleamed off the planes of his face, and she could see the sadness there. "Darling, I don't care how we have to live, as long as we can be together. Don't you know that by now?" she said tenderly.

"I know but..."

Jenny interrupted him with a kiss. "Stop complaining, Mr. Forrester. Mrs. Forrester is tired, and young Master Forrester is trying to sleep," she said with a smile. "I love you, Paul. I know you're tired too. Go to sleep and stop worrying. "We'll be fine. You'll see."

"I hope so," he answered in a troubled voice.

"Paul, you're going to get wrinkles from worrying so much!" Jenny teased, trying to lighten his mood. "You men! You're so lucky, it's just awful. If I worried myself into wrinkles, I'd just look old and disgusting. Men's wrinkles give them character and only make them more handsome. That's terribly unfair! The more wrinkles you get, the better-1ooking you'll get, and then I'll have to carry a big stick to beat the women off of you, and..."

Paul was laughing by this time, and got up onto his elbow, rolling Jenny over onto her back. "Wrinkles, huh? A big stick, huh?" he chuckled as he grabbed her face in his hand. "Let's just see how disgusting you'll look with wrinkles!" He gently squished her cheeks this way and that, making her laugh at the awful grimace on his own face. "Oh, Jenny, it's horrible!" he teased, then leaned down and kissed her tenderly. "No matter how wrinkled you become, Mrs. Forrester, I will always love every square inch of you, wrinkles and all. I'm yours, and you, my darling, are stuck with me." He caressed the hollow of her throat lovingly. "By the way, if you find any big sticks, put them on the fire, okay? It's chilly out here," he murmured against her neck.

"Not so chilly, Mr. Forrester," Jenny sighed contentedly as she held him warmly to her.  
  
---  
  
In the pale light of early morning, Paul, Jenny and Scott ate a cold meal of cheese and fruit, washing it down with carefully purified river water. They cleaned their campsite, trying to erase any evidence of their presence, then started down the road again. They'd been walking for a couple of hours when an old pickup truck slowed and stopped in front of them.

"You folks out hiking, or did your car break down somewhere?" asked the man who was driving the truck.

"Our car broke down," Paul said pleasantly. "We'd appreciate a lift to the next town, if you don't mind."

"Sure, hop in," the man offered.

Paul and Jenny climbed in the cab with the man, and Scott got in the back with the two mixed-breed hunting dogs who greeted him with gaily-waving tails and laughing faces. Scott wrapped an arm around each dog, taking pleasure in the softness of their smooth coats, trying to avoid their wet dog-kisses. He enjoyed playing with dogs. It had been a long time since he'd been able to.

"Looks like your boy is a dog lover," the man commented.

"Yes, Scott loves animals," Paul agreed, turning to look at Scott out the rear window of the truck. He smiled at the obvious pleasure on Scott's face as he frisked with the dogs. He put his arm around Jenny and relaxed against the seat, happy to be riding instead of walking for a while.

"My name's Martin Groves," the man offered.

"I'm Paul Forrester, and this is my wife, Jenny. That's our son, Scott."

"Fine-1coking boy you got there, Mr. Forrester. I bet he'll do you proud."

"I think he will, too," Paul agreed.

"What do you do?" Groves asked.

"I'm a photographer."

"Make a good living?"

"Sometimes," Paul answered with a smile.

"You on vacation now, or what?" Groves continued

"Just traveling. We like to see the country."

"It's nice to be able to travel with your family. How do you manage with the boy's schooling, though?"

"We put him in school whenever we stop for awhile. He's a good student."

"What do you do, Mr. Groves?" Jenny asked, trying to change the subject.

"I'm retired now. I used to work in a fruit-packing plant in Yakima, but my arthritis got too bad and I couldn't handle the machinery anymore. Now I just putter around my place, and help my neighbors when they need extra hands for chores, stuff like that. I stay busy."

They rode in silence for a while. Groves stopped his truck at a small gas station/store combination at a crossroad outside a small town. Scott jumped out of the truck bed.

"Whoa! Look at that!" he exclaimed. "Hey, Dad, where's your camera? I've never seen anything like this before. I bet it'd make neat a picture."

"Me too," Paul replied uncertainly, looking at the station in confusion. The building was shaped like a giant teapot. The round center was white, and the handle, spout and lid were red, with a white knob on top of the lid that looked like it might be a light. "What is it?"

"It looks like a teapot," Jenny said in amazement.

"Hey, folks, this place is famous around here. It was built during the Teapot Dome Scandals, but I don't remember much more than that about it. It's got a plaque over there that says it's on the National Register of Historic Places. Pretty neat, huh?" Groves told them proudly.

"Yes. Neat," Paul said as he got out his camera while walking away from the building to get it all in the picture. "Jenny?" he murmured to his wife, who had followed him away from the building.

"Yes?"  
"A dome is a top or a roof, right?"

"How could there be a scandal in one?" he asked with bewilderment clouding his trusting blue eyes.

Jenny burst out laughing. "Oh, Paul, I don't remember that part of my history classes very well!" Seeing his hopeful look she tried harder to remember the facts so she could explain it.

"Teapot Dome Scandal... It was... I think what happened was... Oh, I just can't remember! I'm sorry. We'll look it up later, okay?

"Okay." Paul snapped some pictures of the teapot-shaped building, then an impish grin broke out on his face. "I know some history, Jenny. Want to hear it?"

"Sure!"

"There was a big tea party in Boston once. I bet they needed a pot that big to serve it." He said this quite seriously, but his eyes were sparkling with mischief.

"No, Paul, that was... umm..."

Paul laughed delightedly. "I was joking! Get it? Teapot? Tea party? I'm developing a real sense of humor, don't you think?" He was obviously quite pleased with himself.

"Yes, I guess you are," she laughed. "You're silly."

"I know. That 's why you love me, right?" he replied with a hopeful look, his eyes wide and his eyebrows trying to reach his hairline.

"Maybe," she said cryptically, then gave him a warm smile and a flirty look over her shoulder as she turned and walked toward the station. "Come on, cowboy, let's wash some of this trail dust off "

"I'm with you, little lady," he replied with a Western 'twang' in his voice as he began a bowlegged swagger toward the station.

"Paul, you're going to have to stop watching so many old movies!" Jenny laughed. "You're starting to sound like John Wayne. You're even walking like him!"

"Better him than Pee Wee Herman!" he chuckled as they parted at the twin rest room buildings behind the station.  
  
---  
  
Scott had stayed by the truck petting the dogs while listening to Groves explain the building to his parents. When Groves moved toward the pump, Scott said, "Would you like me to fill your gas tank, sir?

"Why, thank you, son, I'd appreciate that," the man replied affably. He went into the store and chatted with the owner while Paul and Jenny washed up in the rest rooms.

When Scott finished filling the tank, he went and washed too. As he started to walk past the open door of the store on his way back to the truck, he stopped, stunned by the conversation he heard inside.

"Yep, I got me that famous photographer right there in my truck," Groves bragged to his friend Simon, the store owner.

"You don't say? I heard tell the sheriff's looking for him," Simon replied.

"The sheriff? Why? Seems like a nice enough fella to me," Groves responded in surprise.

"I don't know, but I heard it on the scanner, too, that they were looking for him."

"You suppose there's a reward?" Groves asked, a crafty look in his eye.

"I dunno, but if there is, I'll split it with you," his friend replied. "We can both use the money."

"That's true," Groves agreed.  
  
---  
  
"Dad!" Scott called in a hushed voice as he hurried toward the truck where his parents were petting the dogs. "We've got to get out of here! They know the cops want you."

"What?"

"I heard them talking. They're going to turn you in. They think there's a reward," Scott said with alarm.

Paul, Jenny and Scott grabbed their things and hurried away from the road, hoping to avoid pursuit.

Several minutes later, Groves came out of the store and noticed the Forresters weren't near the truck. He saw his dogs looking at something and followed their line of sight.

"Simon!" he called to his friend in the store. "Get the sheriff on the horn and tell him we've got Forrester. I'll take the dogs and go after them."

"Okay," Simon agreed.

Groves got his dogs out of the truck and turned them loose on Scott's trail. Getting in his truck, he followed them across the desert the best he could.

"Listen," Paul said, stopping for a moment. "Do you hear something?"

"Dogs," Scott answered grimly. "He's turned those dogs on our trail."

"How do we get away from them?" Paul asked as they hurried on.

"On the westerns I used to watch as a kid, they'd always cross water when they wanted to get dogs off their trail," Jenny offered.

"Okay, the river's not very deep here. Let's go," Paul replied.

They stepped into the shallow river and began to walk down it as quickly as possible, continuing in the general direction they'd been going. They constantly checked behind them to see if the dogs had come into sight. Suddenly, they heard the belling call of hounds who knew they were on a hot trail. The dogs caught sight of them, and began rushing headlong, tails flagging joyously with the thrill of the hunt.

"Scott, take your mother and go across the hills there. I'll create some kind of diversion with the sphere," Paul said as he handed his bags to his son.

"But, Dad," Scott began to protest.

"Run! Take care of your mother. Hurry!" Paul cried as he climbed out of the river on the same side as the dogs.

"Come on, Mom. Let's go. He's good at illusions," Scott said grimly, hoping his father could come up with something convincing quickly and rejoin them. He and Jenny left the river on the opposite side from Paul, glanced back at him apprehensively, then turned and ran for their lives as they saw a truck come over the hill behind the dogs. They kept running, not locking back, trusting Paul's good judgment to keep him safe.

Paul concentrated on his sphere, then looked at a spot in front of the oncoming dogs. A wall of fire leaped up before the dogs, stopping them in their tracks. They ran back and forth in front of the leaping flames in confusion, barking and whining in frustration at not being able to finish their job.

Martin Groves couldn't believe his eyes when he saw the wall of flame in front of his dogs. He stopped his truck and stared, dumbfounded. His confusion disappeared when he saw Paul beyond the flames, running toward the river. Without a second thought, he grabbed his ever-present rifle from behind the seat and got out of his truck. Since he wasn't sure if the reward was for Forrester dead or alive, he took careful aim on Paul's legs, squeezing off his shot delicately. Even with arthritis, he was still a crack shot. The skeet champion of three counties once again hit his mark exactly where he planned.

Paul went down, his hand gripping his thigh as an agony of pain shrieked through his body. He saw the blood seeping through his fingers just before merciful darkness closed his mind to the fiery torment radiating from his wound.

"Paul!" Jenny wailed in anguish at the sound of the shot. "Scott, we have to go back! Scott?" She was startled to see her son on the ground holding his leg in pain. "What's wrong?" she cried in alarm as she knelt by the stricken boy, her hands frantically searching his leg for an injury.

Scott moaned and rolled on the ground in agony which gradually faded. "He must be unconscious now," he gasped.

"What happened?"

"I felt his pain," the boy panted. "It knocked me down." He groaned as he tightly gripped his mother's supporting arms and painfully struggled to his feet, still breathing heavily as if winded. "The older I've gotten, and the better I've learned to control the sphere, the more I've felt what he feels. He was shot in the thigh."

"We've got to go to him!" Jenny cried, gripping Scott's arms fiercely, then turning back toward the river.

"No, Mom, we can't," Scott said, trying to restrain her from running off. "We can find him. Dad's sphere is probably back in his pocket, and that man doesn't know about it. When he turns Dad over to Fox, Fox will take the sphere, but he doesn't usually keep it too far from where he keeps Dad. I can track his sphere pretty well now, so we'll be able to find him. Come on, we'll follow them to see where they're going, then we'll hide and figure out some way to get Dad free."

"But he's been shot!" Jenny sounded as if her heart were breaking.

"Didn't he ever tell you about healing you after you were shot that time?"

Jenny shook her head dumbly. She had no idea what Scott was talking about.

"I'll tell you about it sometime. All you need to know right now is that he can fix it with his sphere so he'll be better than new. That man wants a reward, so he'll take good care of Dad until he gives him to Fox. Come on, let's see if we can watch what's going on. I bet if we head for that culvert under the highway there, we can see what happens but still be hidden from sight. I just hope he doesn't turn the dogs loose again."

"He doesn't know they want you, too, so he'll probably heap the dogs with him, now," Jenny said, trying bravely to control herself and be some help to her son instead of a burden.  
  
---  
  
Martin Groves chased his dogs away from Paul's still form, where they had been sniffing the blood running down his leg. Groves tied a rag around the wound, then dragged Paul toward the truck the best he could. Because of his arthritis, he couldn't lift the unconscious man into the truck, so he pushed and shoved Paul's inert body in awkwardly, the rough treatment causing Paul's head to be badly bumped and making the bullet wound in his leg bleed worse.

From the shelter of the culvert, Jenny and Scott watched Groves' pitiless handling of Paul. Even from that distance, they could see Paul's jeans leg turning black with the blood running from his wound. Jenny bit her lip until it bled, in agony because she couldn't help her husband. Scott manfully tried to overcome the fear he was feeling for his dad as he tried to comfort his mother. They watched Groves drive away, the dogs once again bouncing gaily around in the back of the truck, with Paul in the passenger seat, his insensible head lolling against the window as the truck jolted across the rough ground toward the highway.

"Paul!" Jenny cried tearfully, reaching out toward the departing truck.

"Come on, we've got to catch a ride. Let's go," Scott said, helping her to her feet, his strong young arms supporting her, keeping her from collapsing in despair. "Come on, we have to help him. Get it together, Mom, I need you! He needs you. Come on!" he insisted.

Scott's words finally seemed to break through the barrier grief had formed in Jenny's mind. She turned and seemed to see him for the first time since Paul had been shot.

"Scott? What do we do now?" she asked in a small, lost voice.

"We follow him. We'll get him back, you'll see," Scott said with more assurance than he felt.

"We have to. We just have to," Jenny breathed as she followed her son up the slope toward the highway.  
  
---  
  
"Excellent work, Mr. Groves," Fox said absently as he rubbed his hands together in ill-concealed relish over the still form of his captive. "I appreciate your assistance in capturing Mr. Forrester, and your care in not wounding him too badly."

"How much is the reward?" Groves asked expectantly.

"Your country is grateful for your assistance, Mr. Groves," Fox said with an irritated glance at the man. "Wylie, show Mr. Groves out."

"This way, sir," Wylie said as he began moving Groves toward the exit.

"Wait a minute. What about my reward?" the man demanded.

"There was no reward, sir," Wylie explained patiently.

"I shot a man, and there's no reward?" Groves .said, his face reddening in anger. "What's this country coming to?" he blustered as Wylie showed him firmly to the door. Groves' angry, bitter tirade could be heard echoing down the cellblock as Wylie handed him over to the deputy, who took him firmly in hand and escorted him cut of the building.

"What's this country coming to, indeed," Fox muttered as he bent over the motionless body of his quarry. "Wake up, Forrester," he demanded, poking Paul's chest hard with his finger. "Wake up! I know you can hear me. Wake up!" He began shaking his prisoner in his irritation, trying to waken him.

Paul lay unconscious, dried blood and dirt caked on his jeans, fresh blood seeping through the dirty rag Groves had clumsily tied around his thigh.

"Mr. Fox," Wylie began cautiously when he returned to the cell, looking uneasily at Forrester's limp body, and disgusted with Fox's mistreatment of the alien.

"Well? What is it, Wylie?" Fox asked distractedly.

"The doctor is here, sir."

"Don't just stand there, show him in!"

Dr. Josh Douglas stormed angrily into the cell. "What is the meaning of this?" he demanded. "I was told a man has been shot, but he is being held here instead of being brought to the emergency room. What's going on?" Douglas stood over Fox, who was apparently in charge of the situation. Douglas was tall and strongly built, with a neatly-trimmed beard just beginning to be grizzled with gray. He was in his early forties, and accustomed to being instantly obeyed.

"This man is my prisoner, and must be kept under constant surveillance," Fox bristled.

"He can be kept under surveillance in the hospital, sir," Douglas retorted. "He's lost a lot of blood, a child of three could see that. He's going to need surgery to remove the bullet and repair the damage to his leg, and probably treatment for infection from the way things look right now. I have an ambulance on the way to transfer him to Tri-Cities General."

Wylie watched the exchange between Fox and Douglas with increasing interest. Here was an adversary equal to Fox in bad temper and irritability, it seemed. The doctor seemed to expect to be obeyed immediately with no questions asked, exactly like Fox. It would be interesting to see which of them came out the winner in a serious confrontation between them. As the exchange between Fox and Douglas heated up, Wylie's attention was drawn to Forrester, who was beginning to waken.

Paul moaned softly, his head rolling weakly from side to side, his face twisted in pain as awareness returned to him. His eyelids fluttered briefly a few times, then he forced them to open. The room appeared hazy to him, and he shook his head slightly, trying to clear his vision. As he squinted in the bright light, trying to make out his surroundings, the light was blocked by the broad shoulders of Wylie, who sat on the edge of Paul's hard cot, and laid a gently restraining hand on Paul's shoulder.

"Rest easy, Forrester. You've been hurt," Wylie said kindly. "There's a doctor here. He should have you feeling better soon."

"Wylie?" Paul murmured. "Where's Scott? What have you..."

"We haven't found Scott yet, Forrester. Or your wife, either. Is it Jenny Hayden you married?" Wylie asked quietly.

"Jenny..." Paul moaned. He looked up at Wylie a moment, then turned his head toward the small, high, tightly-barred window above his head. He wished he could see outside. He'd always hated to be caged. He felt himself losing consciousness, and turned frightened eyes on Wylie, reaching a weak hand up to grasp Wylie's arm.

"Wylie... don't... let Fox..." Paul struggled to say, his voice so faint Wylie had to lean down to hear him. His hand fell away from Wylie's arm as he lost consciousness again.

By this time Fox and Douglas' angry tirades at each ether had reached an impasse, and they noticed Wylie's attention to Paul.

"What happened, Wylie? Why..." Fox began.

"He woke up, sir. He's in a lot of pain. He asked about Scott," Wylie answered gruffly. He hated the way Forrester was being treated. A dog hit by a car usually got better and faster treatment than this poor alien was receiving. If the beings of his world reacted to things the way humans did, Wylie thought, the earth would probably be quickly destroyed for the mistreatment Forrester had suffered. Maybe Forrester hadn't reported his troubles to his people -- maybe he really was as peaceful a creature as people who had gotten to know him claimed he was.

"Did he mention his wife?" Fox demanded.

"No, sir," Wylie responded. Sure, Paul had called Jenny's name, but he hadn't said she was his wife. Wylie was disgusted enough with Fox to take some pleasure in frustrating him.

The ambulance attendants arrived with the stretcher to take Paul to the hospital. Fox saw his objections were getting nowhere with Dr. Douglas, so he changed his tactics.

"Wait," Fox commanded the ambulance attendants. "I have to get something from him." He searched Paul's pockets until he found the sphere, which he handed to Wylie. "Take care of this, Wylie. I'm not leaving Forrester's side, and there's no telling what could happen in the operating room with that thing around."

"Yes, sir," Wylie said earnestly as he gingerly took the sphere in his hand. He was still staring at it warily when the ambulance bearing the unconscious Paul and the fidgety Fox sped away toward the hospital.  
  
---  
  
Once in the hospital, Fox arranged for guards to be posted outside Forrester's room, and prepared to go into surgery with Forrester himself.

"He's what?" Douglas asked his scrub nurse as he finished snapping on his surgical gloves.

"He's in greens and waiting by the gurney, Doctor. He insists it's a national security case and he must be with the man in case he says something under anesthesia," the nurse said.

Growling a steady stream of curses, Dr. Douglas charged into the operating room, ready to throw Fox out bodily if need be.

"Before you start ordering me around, Doctor," Fox began coolly, "you had better understand this. I am authorized to do whatever necessary to maintain strict security with this patient. If I have to, I'll put him on an Air Force plane and fly him to a military hospital, without benefit of transfusions, surgery or any painkillers. I want this patient alive and well, but I will not, repeat, will not be told by a mere doctor how to handle the security of this situation. Is that understood?"

"Doctor, his pressure is dropping. He's lost a lot of blood, and the transfusion isn't helping yet. If we don't start soon, we'll lose him," the anesthesiologist warned.

"Listen up, people. This twerp here works for the government. If he faints, barfs, or in any other manner gets underfoot, give him a shot of something that will put him cut until we're finished, then drag his body out of my way, or I'll stand on him." Douglas towered over Fox, glaring down at him over his surgical mask. "Is that clearly understood?"

Fox glowered up at the tall surgeon, angry words on the tip of his tongue, when the anesthesiologist repeated his warning of Forrester's rapidly worsening condition. Fox squared his shoulders and took up a position on the opposite side of the table from Douglas, out of the way but close enough to observe everything.

"Doctor, if you will proceed," Fox invited with a sneer as the surgeon held out his hand for the first instrument.

Douglas glared at Fox coldly, then snapped cut the order, "Scalpel."

The surgical team looked at Douglas, then Fox, then each other, amusement lighting their eyes. They knew Douglas was usually all bark and no bite, but this time it seemed they might actually get to see the legendary Douglas temper in action. They'd heard rumors about how tough he'd been as a Marine, and that he brooked no interference. The hospital staff had always been careful to be as cooperative as possible with him. It would be quite interesting to see him in action as long as none of them was the recipient of his raging passion. No one felt sorry for Fox at all. Anyone who treated a patient, no matter what the man had done, as badly as this one had been treated, deserved whatever punishment he received.

Douglas growled under his breath with a last irritated glance at Fox as he began to work on Paul's leg.  
  
---  
  
"He's in there," Scott told his mother as he closed his hand over the glow of his sphere.

"Are you sure?" she asked, a worried frown on her face as she stared at the imposing, fortress-like hospital.

"Yes."

"How is he? Can you tell?"

"No. He must be unconscious again. I haven't felt anything from him since that few minutes several hours ago." When Scott and Jenny were riding in the back of a pickup truck going the way they'd seen Groves drive off with Paul, Scott had gasped as if in sudden pain. It was at that same moment that Paul had regained full consciousness in the jail cell. The boy had felt the pain until his father lost consciousness again. Since then, he had continued searching for the answering resonance of his father's sphere with his own.

Scott's powers weren't sufficiently developed to touch his father's mind strongly enough to communicate with him from any great distance, but he could home in on the sphere fairly well now. He was grateful for the many patient hours Paul had spent gently encouraging him to stretch beyond what he thought himself capable of doing. His father's great confidence in Scott's abilities had given Scott the courage to try things he would never have even dreamed of on his own. Now, both his parents were depending on his still-developing powers and stil1-uncertain skill with the sphere.

Scott tried to maintain his brave front for his mother's sake, but he was terribly frightened, and didn't have any idea how to rescue his father. Even if they managed to get Paul away from Fox, Scott knew he wasn't capable of healing Paul's injuries. They'd have to trust the doctors for that until Paul was well enough to complete his healing himself.  
  
---  
  
"And how is our patient doing, Doctor?" Fox asked irritably.

"Better than I would have expected, considering all he's been through. He still has more fever than I'd like, though, and his blood work is really off the wall." Dr. Douglas closed the chart with a snap, then turned impatiently to Fox. "What can you tell me about this man? None of his chemistry is normal. What's wrong with him? Is he carrying some new germ warfare disease or something? Why are you after him, and why do you treat him so badly?"

Fox breathed deeply, tapping his steepled fingers on his lips, trying to organize his thoughts so he could answer the doctor's questions without further antagonizing him.

"Doctor, there isn't a simple answer to any of your questions except one. He is not carrying some new germ warfare disease, as you put it. His peculiar chemistry is a result of what he is. Let's go to your office. I have to talk with you."

Douglas was astonished at the nerve of Fox, taking command of the situation and ordering him to his own office for a conference. Curiosity and concern for Forrester overcame his anger, and he followed Fox down the hall to his office with il1-concealed irritation. Once there, he threw himself into his deeply-cushioned leather chair and demanded, "Well? Talk, Fox, and make it fast."

"Doctor, what you have in that room doesn't have normal human chemistry because it isn't a normal human. It isn't human at all." Fox hesitated, trying to gauge Douglas' reaction to what he'd been told so far.

"Not human? Don't make me laugh. I've done surgery on the man, and he's..."

"Not a man at all," Fox interrupted. "That, doctor, is a body stolen from a human being, yes, but inhabited by an alien life form."

"What? Fox, you belong on our fourth floor. I'm calling Security," he said, reaching for the phone.

Fox reached out swiftly and held the phone down. "Believe what I'm telling you, Doctor. None of its lab work is normal, is it? Everything about it, its pulse, its chemistry, everything is weird, right? Trust me, I've been following this creature for many years now. I have samples of its tissues at Peagrum Air Force Base. It has gotten away from me several times before, but it won't this time. Treat the body, Doctor, and it should get better as any human's body would. If it needs more blood, it has a son, which we are even now close to capturing. The son's blood will work for a transfusion. It's been done before."

"Stop calling Forrester an 'it', Fox. He's a man, just like you and me. He's not rejecting the blood he's receiving, either, so we don't have to worry about his son. The typing and cross-match were no problem, but there are some strange abnormalities in the chemistry itself. The lab is having a fine time trying to track down all the oddities."

"Doctor, his being an alien explains the oddities," Fox insisted.

"You are the oddity here, Fox. You'd better get out of here before I do call Security," Douglas threatened, standing and towering over the smaller man.

Fox bristled indignantly. Someday the world would believe him. He was tired of being called crazy all the time. He fumed inwardly, thoughts racing around in his mind as he tried to find a way to convince the doctor that he, Fox, wasn't crazy, he was right. He trembled with rage a moment more before turning and storming out the door.

"Fox! Wait!" the doctor called as he rushed out the door behind Fox.

Fox turned angry eyes en the doctor. "Well? What is it?"

"What were you saying about capturing his son? Why are you after a child?"

"His son is a teenager, and half of him is like his father."

"That's natural," Douglas sneered in obvious disgust.

Fox looked up and down the busy hallway, then stared hard into Douglas' eyes. "Remember what I told you about his father. He is half like that. He's a threat to us too, just like his father."

"You really are crazy, Fox. I feel sorry for that poor kid. If your credentials weren't so good, I'd have had you thrown out of here hours ago, and your guards with you. That men won't be moving at all for quite some time. Guarding his room is ridiculous."

"You simply don't know what you're dealing with, Doctor. You will probably find out before we're through here, though. That seems to always happen around Forrester. Good day to you, sir. I have work to do," Fox said imperiously, dismissing Douglas with a disgusted shake of his head.  
  
---  
  
"Any ideas yet?" Jenny asked wearily as she tried to find a more comfortable position in the chilly concrete culvert where they were hiding.

"Not really. You?" he asked hopefully.

"Nothing. We are a fine pair, aren't we?"

"Yep."

Mother and son sat in cold, miserable silence for a long time as dusk fell and the darkness of evening encroached on their hiding place. The desert gets chilly at night even in the heat of summer, and it was now early fall. Scott moved closer to his mother and put his arm around her, trying to help her stay warm.

"I feel so helpless," Jenny murmured.

"I know. I do too. We'll think of something soon," Scott said hopefully.

Jenny stood up suddenly. "I just have to know how he is. I'm going in and find out."

"No, Mom, they'll catch you!" Scott cried in alarm as he leaped to his feet.

"Son, they know about you, but they probably don't know about me. It's better if I go in than you."

They argued back and forth for some time. Finally they both realized there was little else they could do. Jenny got Scott to agree to her entering the hospital, and they arranged a meeting place and time.

"You wait for me, Scott, you promise! Don't you dare come in there, or they'll find you," Jenny insisted.

"Okay. I'll wait, but if you don't come back when your time is up, I'm going to come looking for you, no matter what you say. I've had to hide from them before. I know how to take care of myself."

"Well... I just don't know what else we can do. You be careful, son, do you hear me?" Jenny insisted, gripping her tall son's shoulders tightly and gently shaking him.

"I hear you," he answered. "I can tell, I'm going to have to stand in the corner if you catch me doing anything I shouldn't," he teased, trying to cheer her a little.

"That's right!" Jenny agreed, tears in her eyes. She loved Scott so much, and she just didn't know how to protect him from the threat they faced.

"First ya gotta catch me!" he said with a cocky grin.

"Right," she smiled back at him. "Give me a hug for luck, Scotty."

Scott folded his mother in his arms, bending his head down to rest on her shoulder. He held on to her tightly for a moment, then straightened up and pushed her away gently. "Go on, get on with it, Mom. Procrastinating won't do us any good at all," he said bravely, blinking back the tears that threatened to overflow his eyes.

"Scott..." Jenny began.

"Get out of here. Come back on time, or I'm coming after you!"

"You be careful."

"Be careful yourself."

Jenny looked back over her shoulder at her tall, handsome son as she moved off toward the hospital. He was more of a man at his tender age than a lot of old men she had known. She was so proud of him. If only she knew some way to get Paul back safely and keep Scott protected too, then for all of them to get away safely. She drove such negative thoughts from her head and straightened her posture, shaking her long hair back over her shoulders in that determined way Paul so loved, and striding purposefully toward the hospital entrance.  
  
---  
  
Paul lay unconscious in the Intensive Care Unit with an IV running and monitors attached to him constantly checking his vital signs.

Teresa Michaels was the nurse in charge of the floor, and had taken Paul's case on herself. She was in her late thirties, single, attractive, and thoroughly dedicated to her job and her patients. She tried valiantly never to allow herself to become personally involved with her patients, however, because in ICU they all too often died. She felt her coldly professional attitude was the best way to deal with the grief inherent in her position. She might hurt inside, but she never let anyone see the tenderness she felt in her heart for these patients. She would go into their rooms and pray over them during the quiet hours of the night when nobody would notice. If she thought anyone was watching her, she changed from an attitude of prayer to straightening the bed, checking the monitors, any of a thousand busy things that must be done to maintain these desperately ill people.

She'd been covering her feelings for patients since she'd been a young nurse in the military, when she had had to care for soldiers injured in terrorist bomb attacks on their living quarters in the Middle East. She'd allowed herself to become involved with one very special man. When he took a sudden turn for the worse and died, she was so devastated she swore she'd never care that much for anyone else, and she hadn't.

As she passed the armed guard lounging outside Forrester's door, Teresa wondered why this man was being so heavily guarded when he was in such bad shape. The bullet removed from his leg was from a large-caliber hunting rifle, and had done a great deal of damage. He would probably be left with an ugly scar and a permanent limp. She'd seen similar wounds when she'd been in the military, and had an excellent idea of Forrester's prognosis. She stopped by Paul's IV pump, reset the machine and checked the flow, then checked the position of the IV needle in his hand. Everything was fine, but she was very conscientious about such things, and examined them frequently. His heart monitor was operating perfectly, and his vital signs were slowly improving.

Teresa stood by the bed and gazed into the pale face of the wounded man. His thick dark hair had reddish highlights where it caught the light. He looked so vulnerable and young with his hair spilling over his forehead. Teresa's heart went out to him as she smoothed it back with a gentle touch. He had a kind face, she thought, and a handsome one. She wondered what he was like, how he looked when he laughed, how his voice sounded. She'd felt an unusual warmth, and a tingle like electricity coming from him when she'd touched him. She assumed he was still feverish. From the lines etched in his face, he must smile a lot, she thought. What could someone who looked so pleasant and gentle have done to be so obviously in terrible trouble with the law?

She stood in silent prayer for his speedy recovery for a few moments, then turned to leave. A small movement caught her attention as she started for the door, and she turned back toward the bed. The man was stirring ever so slightly, trying to wake up. Teresa drew the curtains across the observation window, giving the patient some privacy from the guard and passersby in the hallway. She returned to his bedside and took his hand gently in hers.

"Mr. Forrester? Can you hear me?" she asked quietly. "Mr. Forrester?" She watched him carefully as he began trying to open and focus his eyes. He struggled for a moment, then squeezed his eyes tightly shut.

"Are you in pain, Mr. Forrester? It's nearly time for your next medication," she offered kindly.

Paul opened his eyes slowly and looked up at Teresa. He squinted and blinked hard, then finally managed to focus on her. "Where am I?" he asked in a raspy voice.

"In Tri-Cities Hospital, Mr. Forrester. You've been hurt and had surgery, but you'll be fine before you know it. I'm your nurse. My name is Teresa Michaels. Can I get you anything?"

"Water. Please."

"Just a minute." She got a cup and filled it partially with cool water, then put a flexible straw in it so he could drink it without sitting up. She offered it to him and he sipped just a little, smiling at her with his eyes as he did so.

"Thank you," he murmured. He looked around the room as if getting his bearings, then studied Teresa for a few moments. His steady gaze seemed to make her uncomfortable. "Do I frighten you?" he asked gently.

"No, why should you frighten me?" she asked incredulously.

"I thought maybe Fox..." he began, then his voice faded away as he saw she didn't know what he was talking about.

Teresa hadn't yet come on duty when Fox had been on the floor making his arrangements for the guarding of Forrester's room. She only knew that Paul had been shot and was in custody, but nobody seemed to know why.

"Do you know where my things are?" Paul asked weakly. His strength was rapidly beginning to fade.

"Your clothes should be in this closet, and your wallet and watch, and any jewelry will be in the hospital safe," she answered in her normal efficient voice.

"Have you seen... my... lucky piece? It's a... steel ball, like a... big marble. It was in... my pants pocket," he managed to say before he ran out of breath. He lay there panting from effort, hope lighting his eyes as Teresa began looking for his sphere.

"A steel ball? That's an odd thing to have for a lucky piece," she commented as she searched the closet and drawers. "I'm sorry, it must not be here. The nurse who admitted you said a Mr. Wylie put something of yours in the hospital safe. Maybe that was your lucky piece. I can check the hospital safe for you if you want."

"Would you, please? I really need it," Paul said wearily, exhaustion overcoming him as he felt hope ebbing away.

"Why would you need a lucky piece?" Teresa wondered aloud. "Never mind. I know lots of people with superstitions of one kind or another. I'll find it and bring it to you if it will ease your mind, okay?"

Paul's face lit up with gratitude. "Thank you. I know it will help... if I... have... it."

"You just rest easy, Mr. Forrester. I'll bring it as soon as I find it." She smoothed his covers and smiled briefly at him just before he lost his struggle to stay conscious.

"I hope that marble is in the safe," she muttered to herself as she headed for the door. "He needs all the help he can get."  
  
---  
  
Paul drifted in and out of consciousness for some time. Each time he awoke, he looked fearfully around the room, not quite sure where he was. When he remembered, he would lie very still, resignation about his own fate written on his face, anxiety about his family's safety clutching at his heart. Losing consciousness again was almost merciful, since it gave him a rest from his anxiety.  
  
---  
  
Teresa bustled into the room in her usual, businesslike fashion, her experienced eyes noting the patient's color and scanning the monitors as her hands checked Paul's vitals. She stood a minute, her carefully cultivated veneer of cold professionalism slipping as she gazed into her patient's gentle face. She shook herself into a "back to business" attitude, then rearranged his covers slightly, holding Paul's hand in hers as she smoothed the rumpled blanket under his arm. She held his hand a moment longer, confused by the tingling warmth she felt radiating from his skin. His temperature wasn't elevated enough to cause this kind of feeling. She turned his hand over in hers, wondering as she did it why she wanted to know more about this man. He had large, strong hands, but they were soft and un-calloused, obviously not the hands of a man who had to do physical labor for a living. Her mind wandered as she mused about what kind of man he was. She was called back from her daydreaming by his hand gently squeezing hers.

"So, you're awake again, huh?" she asked in her brisk way. "How are we feeling?"

"I don't know about you, but I feel terrible," he said seriously.

"At least they didn't remove your sense of humor in surgery," she said with a smile. She was rarely this friendly with patients. What was it about this man that caused her to act so differently?

"Can they do that?" he asked incredulously.

"Do what?"

"Remove your sense of humor with surgery."

"The way some people act around here, sometimes I wonder if that isn't what happened to them," she said cryptically, pulling herself back to her usual professional manner. "I guess I should include myself in that bunch."

"Why?" he asked, his eyebrow raised in puzzlement.

"Oh, never mind. Can I get you anything?"

"Have you found my... lucky piece yet?" he asked with an anxious frown creasing his forehead.

"Not yet. I haven't had time to get down to the safe, and the nurse who checked you in is off-duty, so I can't ask her. We're understaffed right now, and I've been busy. I'll get to it as soon as I can," she answered in her brusque manner, laying his hand on the covers and moving toward the door. "I'll see you later. I have other patients to check on."

"Wait! Please, wait... Has Fox... found... my son yet?" Paul asked worriedly, his strength beginning to fade again.

"Fox? Who's that?"

"The man who told... the guards... to stand outside... my door." He sank back against his pillows, exhaustion etched on his face.

"They were there when I came on duty. I don't know who Fox is. I haven't heard anything about your son. Have they contacted him so he can come be with you?" She was having to work hard to maintain her businesslike facade. She could tell this man was one she could quickly and easily grow too fond of, so she anxiously tried to keep her emotional distance from him.

He looked at her a moment before he answered. She tried to act cold and distant, but he'd felt the caring concern she tried to keep hidden, and the basic goodness of her spirit while she was holding his hand.

"No. They're... looking for him. They want to put him... in a cage..., like they're going to do... with me." Paul's words came out more and more slowly, obviously with great effort. His eyes were anguished as he looked around the windowless room. "Like they've... already... done with me," he amended despondently.

"This is a hospital room, not a cage, Mr. Forrester," Teresa said, not understanding Paul's problem, trying to reassure him.

"When I'm better..., I'll be put in a cage," Paul said with certainty. "Like an animal in a zoo."

"Why? What have you done?"

"Nothing. They will cage me... because of who I am..., not because of anything I've done. They will cage... my son... because he's my son..., that's all." Paul turned his face toward the wall and continued speaking disjointedly, as if to himself. "He didn't... choose... to be born. He can't help being... half like me. They don't care. They just want... to lock us up... and run tests on us... until we... die." Paul's voice faded as despair washed over him.

Teresa had to lean close to him to understand what he was saying. The sad desperation in his gentle voice touched Teresa deeply. She searched for some way to comfort him. "This is America, Mr. Forrester. That kind of thing doesn't happen here. That's what the Nazis did. Americans don't work that way," she said compassionately.

Paul turned his head and looked at Teresa for a moment before speaking again. "George Fox does. He has... the government behind him, too..., so he can do... what he wants... with us." With a desperate light in his eyes, he raised himself from the pillow, gripping Teresa's arm tightly. "If you see my son..., tell him... stay away from here..., not to try... to get to me. He has to... stay... free. He... has... to." Paul's voice faded as he fell back against the pillow in exhaustion.

Teresa was shocked, and thoroughly confused. This man must be psychotic or something. He must have a persecution complex. She felt certain the American government would never allow a human being to be tested and confined against his will. Even a criminal had the right to say something about tests done on his own body, she felt sure of that. Maybe this poor man was being so closely guarded because he was dangerous to himself, but somehow she didn't think that was the case. Why did he say such strange things? She'd try to find his steel ball. Maybe it would be some comfort to him.

Paul had fallen into an exhausted sleep. Teresa tucked the blankets around him more snugly, and smoothed the damp hair back from his brow, which was sweaty from his weakness. Again, she felt that strange warmth like a flow of energy when she touched him. When she had held his hand, she'd felt the energy weakly, but when he had grabbed her arm, it was almost as if electricity had pulsed through his hand into her arm, except it wasn't uncomfortable at all. She watched him drift into deeper sleep, then left the room to check on her other patients, keeping in the back of her mind a reminder to check the safe for his lucky piece.  
  
---  
  
"Yes, Ma'am, may I help you?" the woman at the Information Desk asked Jenny.

"Yes, I heard a man was brought in who had been shot in the leg. I wanted to know how he is."

"Is he a relative?"

"Uh...no. He's a neighbor. I knew he'd gone hunting, and...." Jenny ended lamely. She never had been a good liar.

"The only gunshot wound I've heard of today was that man the police are guarding. I don't know how he got shot, but if he's being guarded, he must have been robbing a bank or something, not just hunting," the hospital volunteer offered.

"Do you know how he is?" Jenny asked desperately.

"They have him listed in 'Fair' condition."

"What does that mean?"

"You'd have to ask his doctor to get specifics on it, Ma'am. All the information I have is that his condition is listed as 'Fair'."

"Do you have his room number?"

"He's in ICU, but he can't have any visitors. The police are guarding him closely. This can't be your friend who was hunting."

"I guess you're right. Maybe I have the wrong hospital. Thank you." Jenny left hurriedly before the woman got more suspicious.

The woman looked after Jenny curiously, then simply shook her head. You got all types in here. This was just another one who didn't make any sense.

Jenny walked quickly down the hall, looking for a linen closet. When she found one, she ducked inside. She found a stack of clean housekeeping smocks, and quickly put one on over her shirt and jeans. Now she looked like many of the hospital employees. She prayed she wouldn't get caught as she stuck a rag in a pocket and grabbed a bottle of spray cleaner. She hoped this was disguise enough to protect her for a while.

Walking down the hallway, head down, rag actively wiping various surfaces, Jenny made her way to the elevators. She looked at the directory next to the elevators, then went to the staircase, climbing rapidly up to the Intensive Care Unit floor. When she reached the right floor, she looked out the staircase door down the hall and saw the policeman lounging in front of one room, his chair rocked back against the wall, his feet swinging idly. The man was obviously bored from sitting there in the quiet hallway by himself. He glanced up and noticed Jenny, who tried to cover her panic-stricken face with her hand, pretending to sneeze quietly.

"Dust getting to you, pretty thing?" the policeman offered with a friendly grin.

"Yes, sometimes it does, I guess," Jenny replied hesitantly.

"Wish I could help you out. I'm sick of sitting here, I'll tell you that." He stood and stretched, settling his gun belt more comfortably on his hips, then smiled at Jenny. "What's the matter? You scared of guns? Or is it cops? You got tickets that need fixing?" he chuckled. He was enjoying flirting with Jenny. It was the first pleasant diversion he'd had all evening.

"No, I'm not scared of guns or cops," Jenny replied with a nervous laugh. "I'm just surprised to see a policeman here in Intensive Care. Is there an injured policeman in there?" she asked hesitantly.

"Nope. Some poor guy the Feds want for some reason. You wouldn't believe the weird little guy the Feds sent out here to pick this guy up." The cop crossed his arms on his chest and leaned comfortably against the door frame, smiling down at Jenny. She had come nearer since he hadn't recognized her. They must not have circulated a photo of her yet.

"What's this guy done, do you know?"

"Nah. I can't understand why we're guarding him at all. He's hurt so bad he can't go anywhere."

"Is it safe to go in there?" Jenny asked nervously.

"Now, why would a pretty little thing like you want to go in there? Never seen a bad guy before, is that it?" he chuckled.

"No. I have to clean in there. It's my job," Jenny said shrugging her shoulders and smiling, trying to flirt a little with the obviously interested cop.

"Okay, go on in. Can I have a cup of coffee with you when I get off my shift?"

"Sure," Jenny said with a nervous smile she hoped was coquettish as she sidled past him into Paul's room. "I have to be quiet now so I don't wake the patient, so I'll see you later, okay?"

"Yeah. Later, baby," the cop said, pleased with his easy conquest of this attractive woman. With a little makeup and her hair fixed more nicely, she'd be a real looker, he thought. Maybe he'd take her under his wing, kind of tutor her, fix her up so she'd do him proud. He smiled at the thought of the envy his friends would feel if he showed up at their favorite hangout with this sweet thing on his arm. They didn't need to know she was a cleaning lady. She worked at the hospital. He could say she was a nurse, a doctor even. To borrow a phrase from a character on a favorite TV show, "Yeah, that's the ticket!" He leaned his chair back against the wall again, lost in his dreams.

"Paul? Oh, Paul!" Jenny said softly, her voice breaking as she gazed at that beloved, too-still face. He was obviously weak, and so pale. She wished she knew how to help him. "Paul, wake up, darling, it's Jenny. Wake up!"

Paul stirred and moaned in his sleep, then began to slowly open his eyes. When he saw Jenny, he smiled at her gently, looking as if he thought he was still asleep and dreaming.

"Paul, wake up, hurry, there isn't much time!" she urged.

"Jenny? Is that really you?" he asked weakly.

"Yes, darling, it's me," she said, smiling through her tears.

"Jenny!" he cried, reaching his free hand to touch her dear face. "Where's... Scott?" he asked in sudden concern.

"He's waiting for me outside. He's hiding in a safe place," she reassured him. "How can I help you, darling?"

"My sphere... It isn't here. A nurse said she'd... look for it," he answered as he struggled to sit up. It was obvious he was quickly using up what little strength he had.

"Lie back, Paul, you're too weak to get up," Jenny urged.

"If I had my sphere... I could heal the injury... so we... could... go," he said weakly as he fell back against the pillows. "If I... could walk..., I could... go find it."

Jenny took his free hand in her right hand, and reached to feel his forehead for fever with her left hand. The blue crystal of her wedding ring flashed a fiery rainbow as it caught the light from the lamp above Paul's bed.

Paul struggled to pull his hand from Jenny's and weakly reached for her left hand. "Your ring!" he cried, excitement lighting his eyes. "Let me... have it..., honey."

"Why?" she asked as she slipped it off her finger.

"I made it... from things... from my ship..., remember?" he began as he gratefully took the ring in his hand. "The band is the same... material... as our spheres. Even though there's... a lot less... of the sphere material here..., it should be enough," he explained as he struggled to sit up. With Jenny's arms supporting him, he concentrated on her ring. The band began to glow like the spheres did. Shafts of multicolored light shot out from the crystal as the band brightened to a steady, intense blue glow. Paul groaned a little as he tried to stretch his leg and move his foot around.

Without Jenny or Paul noticing it, the door opened and closed quietly. Teresa stood just inside the door, transfixed by the colored light show displayed before her. She suddenly became aware of her hand getting warmer. She gazed curiously at the steel ball in her hand, which was now glowing a bright blue.

When the sphere in Teresa's hand lit in response to the ring's being activated, Paul felt a sudden surge of extra power through the ring. He glanced up in surprise and quickly closed his hand, instantly deactivating both the ring and the sphere.

"Don't be afraid," he said softly as he got out of bed and stood before the nurse on two strong legs. "Please help me. I need this taken out," he said, holding out his hand with the IV still running into it.

Teresa stood dumbstruck, her mouth agape, eyes wide. This man had been in bad shape when she had last checked him not an hour before, and here he stood, in no apparent pain, with his injured leg seemingly strong again. It was impossible!

"Please," Jenny entreated, moving toward Teresa, "please help us".

"Who... what are you?" Teresa asked in an awestruck voice.

"I mean you no harm. I just want to leave and take care of my family," Paul said quietly as he gazed deeply into her eyes.

Jenny put her arm around Teresa and brought her closer to Paul. "He's my husband. He's never hurt anyone. Please help us".

Teresa stood in front of Paul and stared in awe at the transformation that had taken place in the man before her. He had been so pale and weak. Now his face glowed with good health, and his whole body radiated strength and energy.

Paul reached out his free hand and gently squeezed Teresa's shoulder. "Thank you for finding my sphere. Thank you for caring." He looked deeply into her eyes as he held her shoulder, calming her.

"I... I don't know what's happened here, but I do want to help you," she began hesitantly. Suddenly becoming decisive, she handed Paul his sphere. "Sit on the bed and let me see your leg," she directed. When he was seated, she removed the surgical dressing and was amazed to see his leg with no wound, not even a scar. Wordlessly, she removed the IV.

"I guess you won't need those stitches anymore. I'll have them out in a second," she said, pulling a small pair of scissors from her pocket. "This just can't be real. I know I'm dreaming. Oh well, talk about taking your work home with you!" she said with a nervous chuckle. "Okay, even if this is a dream, I may as well do it right." She snipped the stitches and prepared to take them out. "It won't actually hurt, it'll just pull a little. You don't have to watch," she reassured Paul.

"I'd like to watch. It's interesting," he answered with a warm smile. "It tickles," he continued with a grin.

"That's a first. I've never heard anyone say it tickled to have stitches removed before." When she finished her job, she started to remove the monitor leads.

"Wait," Paul said, putting a restraining hand on her arm. "If you take those off, won't an alarm go off somewhere?"

"Yes, in the nurses' station," Teresa agreed.

"Wait a minute," he said. He activated his sphere and removed the monitor leads himself. The monitors continued to show the same patterns they had when the leads were attached to him.

"How did that happen?" Teresa asked in wonder as she helped Paul remove the adhesive pads from his body.

"Magic," Paul smiled, holding up the now-darkened sphere.

"Magic. Sure," Teresa answered with amusement. "Who are you really? And what is that thing? It's certainly not just a lucky piece."

Jenny handed Paul his clothes and took her ring from his outstretched palm. "He's a good man," she told Teresa.

"I'm a visitor here," Paul told the nurse as he started to change clothes.

"Paul..." Jenny warned.

Startled, he looked up at her, then grinned sheepishly as he understood what she meant.

"Oops! Excuse me," he said as he went behind a curtain to change clothes.

"Visitor from where?" Teresa asked curiously of the chuckling Jenny.

"He's from another world," Jenny replied.

"The soap opera, right?" Teresa asked wryly.

"No!" Jenny laughed. "Really... another world!"

"Huh?"

"I'm from a place beyond your solar system," Paul explained as he came around the curtain, tucking in his shirt as he came.

Teresa gazed at him, examining him from head to toe. "I thought spacemen would look different than we do," she said, believing but not quite believing what she'd heard.

"I borrowed this body so I could survive here," Paul explained.

"You said this guy Fox wants you because of who you are. You weren't kidding, were you?"

"No."

Teresa turned to Jenny. "And you're his wife. Are you from... out there... too?" she asked, gesturing toward the ceiling.

"No, I'm from Wisconsin. It's a long story, and we haven't got the time to go into it right now. We need to get out of here and find our son before Fox finds him, or returns here and catches us. Can you help me get him out of here?"

"I'll do whatever I can. Let's see..."

 

"Well, there you are, sweet thing! I wondered how much longer it was gonna take you to clean that room," the cop said as Jenny emerged from Paul's room.

"I had to help the nurse with something," she replied, smiling at him as she moved down the hallway toward the lounge.

"Hey, what was with that light show in there a few minutes ago, anyway?"

Jenny turned and looked at him, wringing her cleaning rag nervously in her hands. When she noticed what she was doing, she stopped abruptly, then smiled warmly at the cop. "Oh, there was some trouble with one of the monitors, I guess. All that technical stuff is beyond me, you know?"

"Yeah, well, they just told me to watch who goes in and cut. I would have looked in there, but sick people make me kinda jumpy, you know? Like his being shot could jinx me or something." He paused, realizing he might have damaged the macho image he was trying to create in Jenny's mind. "Hey, cops and firemen have superstitions like anybody else," he continued defensively.

"I know what you mean. I have an exact routine I follow when I buy lottery tickets or something. It's brought me luck lots of times," she replied.

"Ever hit it big in the lottery?" he asked hopefully. Could this little chick have money hidden away somewhere? That would just sweeten getting to know her that much more.

"Not really. Maybe my system needs some work," she said with a self-deprecating smile. "Would you like to have some coffee now?"

"Now?" he answered, scratching his head as he looked up and down the hallway. "Well... My shift isn't up for a couple more hours, but there hasn't been anybody around but you and the nurses, so I guess it's okay to leave the door for a few minutes, anyway. Okay," he said as he heaved himself up from the chair and swaggered down the hall behind Jenny, enjoying the provocative sway of her hips.

Jenny led him back into the lounge closer to the coffeemaker, away from the hallway. She stood with her back to the wall farthest from the lounge entrance, forcing him to stay turned away from the doorway while he flirted with her. As they talked, she glanced behind him once in awhile, watching the hallway, then she would look around the room as if shy of the policeman so he wouldn't think she was looking at anything particular. Soon, she saw Teresa and Paul hurry by on their way to the staircase. She waited another few minutes, then checked her watch.

"Oh, dear, I've taken too long a break. If I don't get back to work, I'll get in trouble," she said anxiously. She gave the policeman her best smile, trying to charm him further. "Well, if I do get in trouble, at least it's been fun. Thanks." She picked up her rag and bottle of cleaner and headed for the door.

"Yeah, I'd better get back to my post too. I guess I'm just lucky I didn't get caught either!" he said with a laugh. "You're a lot of fun to talk to, once you stop acting so shy, sweetie. We're on for dinner tomorrow night after you get off, right?"

"Sure. I'm looking forward to it," Jenny replied. "I really have to go now. See you later."

"You bet!" The cop stretched and resettled his gun belt on his hips as he strutted back to his post. His easy charming of the pretty little cleaning lady was a feather in his cap, he was sure. He smiled to himself as he rocked his chair back and leaned it against the wall of Paul's room. It never occurred to him to look in on his charge. The prisoner was too weak to move, his monitors were still making their various beeping noises as usual, so everything must be fine.  
  
---  
  
Meanwhile, Scott had gotten impatient waiting for his mother's return. It was already well past the time they'd agreed to meet. He'd considered using the sphere to find her, but realized her ring would light up in answering resonance to his searching sphere, and would give her away to anyone nearby. He paced nervously as he waited, then was delighted to feel his sphere respond when Paul activated Jenny's ring. The boy couldn't understand why he was feeling a resonance from his father's sphere when he could tell it wasn't searching for him, but the feel of the resonance was a lot different than usual, too. He suddenly realized it must be his mother's ring he was sensing. His father had told him and his mother that, since the ring wasn't constructed as the spheres were, it probably wouldn't behave in the way the spheres did. Paul had told Scott and Jenny what he thought the ring might be capable of, but that he wasn't certain how it would behave, because nothing like the ring had ever been created before. Because it was a lace-work of sphere material instead of solid, its power wouldn't be as concentrated, and might even scatter like buckshot. They'd never tested the ring's properties and powers beyond the search resonance.

Scott felt his leg begin to tingle and grow suddenly warm, and he knew Paul must be healing himself, using his mother's ring.

"Way to go, Dad!" he exclaimed in relief. He felt the sudden surge of power as Paul's sphere was brought into the room and activated by the resonance from Jenny's ring. "Aw right! They got the sphere back!"

Scott bounced from one foot to the other in impatience and excitement as he waited for his parents to emerge from the hospital. Finally, he could wait no longer and entered the building. He found a staircase and started up, hoping to see "Intensive Care" marked on a doorway somewhere. He figured Fox would have his dad in Intensive Care simply because it would be easier to maintain security there.

He had gone up only a few flights when he heard familiar voices on the staircase below him. Fox and Wylie were on their way up from the cafeteria in the basement.

"Great. Now what," Scott muttered to himself as his mind cast frantically about for a plan. He knew he'd have to draw them away from the hospital to give his parents time to escape. His eyes darted around the staircase, trying to think of a way of attracting the agents' attention without cutting off his own escape route.

"Stop griping, Wylie. Walking up stairs is the best way to keep in shape after eating all that starchy so-called food from that cafeteria. About Forrester -- we'll move him to the Air Force base as soon as he's more stable," Fox was saying.

"Yes, sir," Wylie replied quietly as he trudged up the stairs behind Fox.

"And I'm going to... What was that?" Fox exclaimed as he heard a loud noise above him. He looked up and was shocked to see Scott Hayden looking down at him from a landing a few flights up. "Wylie! It's Scott!" Fox cried as he began racing up the stairs, with Wylie close behind him.

Scott had slammed a door shut on a locker he'd found on the landing to attract the attention of the FSA agents, then looked over the rail to be sure they knew he was there. He ran up two more flights, slowly enough for Fox to know on which floor he'd stopped. He ran down the corridor of what turned out to be the obstetrics floor, then down the next hallway. Fox and Wylie were still pounding along behind him, but still half the length of the hallway away from him. They were no match for his youthful speed.

"Scott! Stop! You can't get away!" Fox shouted. Nurses, doctors and orderlies spilled out into the hallway, drawn by the noise of the pursuit. "Wylie, call Forrester's guard and alert him. Tell him not to let anybody in the room."

"Yes, sir," Wylie answered as he stopped and took out his walkie-talkie to call the guard.

Fox continued to chase Scott, who was now running more seriously. There were too many extra people around, people who could catch him more easily than Fox, people who could reach him as he passed. His heart was pounding now from real fear as much as from exertion as he raced from one hallway to the next. He found a different staircase and flew down it, taking three steps at a time, sliding down the banister when possible, dodging the few people he encountered on the stairs. His chest was heaving painfully. This was the longest and most difficult race he'd ever run. His mind made a sudden leap back to his days of training for the cross-country team at Union High. As he'd learned to expect from his training for the team, the pain in his body suddenly eased as he finally got his second wind. He put on a burst of speed and flew out the door at the bottom of the steps, racing a-cross the parking lot toward the road, knowing he wasn't anywhere near where he and his mother had parted. He turned and ran down the darkened road into the night, hoping he was leading Fox away from wherever his parents were hiding.

The hospital was on the edge of town, and the road was sparsely populated and little traveled. There were no buildings nearby except a small, noisy factory set back a long lane. There were no cars for Scott to dodge, and no fences or bushes for him to use as cover.

"Scott!" Fox panted as he chased the fleeing youth down the road. "Scott, stop, or I'll shoot you! I will!" he gasped painfully. He stumbled, caught himself and ran on, pursuing the fleeing boy who was rapidly disappearing in the evening gloom. He tripped again, and the gun in his outstretched hand went off, the bullet hitting Scott in the shoulder.

Scott went down under the impact of the bullet, gasping in pain, then stood on wobbly legs and began a stumbling, desperate run, holding his hand over the bleeding wound in his shoulder, steeling his mind against the torture he felt with every jarring step. "Keep moving, gotta keep moving," he told himself grimly. "Run... run... run... run...," he chanted, almost as a litany to keep his legs moving in agonizing rhythm.  
  
---  
  
Running down the hospital stairway, Paul suddenly stumbled against the wall with a cry of pain.

"Paul! What's wrong?" Jenny cried in an agony of fear.

"Scott... " he gasped breathlessly. "Scott's... "

"What? What's happened?" Jenny's eyes filled with tears as she fought down the panic threatening to overwhelm her.

"He's been shot. I felt his pain." Paul staggered down the stairs again. "Come on, we have to get to him."

"My car's right here," Teresa called from the doorway ahead of them. "Do you know where he is?"

"I can find him. He's not far away," Paul said as he activated his sphere. They hurried across the parking lot, Paul holding his shoulder in obvious pain as he lurched toward the car, while Jenny tried to support him.  
  
---  
  
Fox's chest was heaving from effort, his arms and legs heavy with weariness. He knew he couldn't run much longer. As he ran, he aimed his gun at the dim form of Scott's white sweatshirt. He was prepared to shoot the boy down to end the chase one way or the other. "If I can't catch you..., I'll kill you," he gasped. "At least that will stop one of you. I'll get your father someday too..."

"Mr. Fox! No!" Wylie shouted when he saw Fox point the gun at the fleeing boy's back. He had been trying to catch up with Fox since he'd finished talking with Forrester's guard. He'd always been afraid Fox would snap and try to kill Forrester and his son. He began running toward Fox, trying to save Scott's life. Capture was one thing, but killing was another. He couldn't let Fox murder this child.

Wylie's shout distracted Fox momentarily and he turned to look over his shoulder at his assistant. That momentary turn saved Scott's life. Fox's weary legs weren't working that well anymore, and he stumbled yet again. As he fell, his hand holding the gun hit the ground, and the bullet pierced Fox's side. He shrieked in pain, then lay writhing on the ground in agony.

At the sound of Fox's scream, Scott stopped running and turned back to see the agent's body recoil from the impact of the bullet. He started to take his chance to escape, but something inside him made him run back to where Fox lay, bloody and in great pain. Scott cradled Fox's head in his lap, the wound in his own shoulder forgotten as he gently put his hand over the wound in the agent's side.

"Get... away... from me," Fox gasped, terror plain in his face.

"Shut up, Fox. I'm trying to help you," Scott growled.

Wylie ran up to where Scott was holding Fox and looked at the scene before him, then holstered his gun. "What are you going to do, Scott?" he asked.

"I'm trying to help him. My dad could heal him, but I don't think I can yet. He's bleeding pretty badly. I think I can stop the bleeding and probably make some of the pain go away, if he'll be quiet long enough for me to concentrate."

"What can I do to help?" Wylie offered.

"Hold his hands so he can't keep pushing mine away," Scott said. "And if anybody comes around, make them leave me alone so I can do this."

"I don't think anyone will be out for a while. The factory noises from over there probably covered the sounds of the shots," he said to reassure the boy.

Wylie held the protesting Fox's hands, then, when Fox wouldn't stop trying to yell at Scott, Wylie stuffed his handkerchief in Fox's mouth. He smiled down at the reddening face of the furious little man. "If you're quiet long enough, you just might feel better, Mr. Fox. I've heard people say Forrester can work miracles with his sphere. Give the boy a chance."

"Yeah, Fox. Dad's been letting me help when he heals injured animals, so I've stopped bleeding and relieved pain successfully a few times before. I can't do the fancy stuff yet, though. You'd better be quiet. You wouldn't want me to mess this up, now, would you?" the boy said with a crooked grin. He winced in pain as he shifted his position to work on Fox.

"Son, shouldn't you heal yourself first?" Wylie asked with concern.

"I can't. The bullet's still in there. Besides, he's bleeding badly. I should be able to fix him up pretty fast."

"Okay, you're the boss".

Scott glanced up at Wylie, surprised and warmed by the man's trust in his abilities. He had his now-lit sphere in the hand of the injured arm, and the other hand on the wound in Fox's side. The blood on Scott's hand from his own wound mingled with the blood oozing from Fox's side, as Scott put gentle pressure on the hole in Fox's side.

Fox's eyes widened in horror as he realized his blood was being contaminated with alien blood. His trembling increased, more from fear than pain.

"The bullet went in and out cleanly. I don't feel any serious damage internally, but the bullet seems to have hit a major blood vessel because you're bleeding badly. You need the bleeding stopped until a doctor can sew you up. I think I can do that," Scott said with a reassuring smile as he glanced at the terrified face of his tormenter.

Fox squealed around the handkerchief stuffed in his mouth.

"What was that, Mr. Fox?" Wylie asked pleasantly. "Are you wondering if Scott can really do it? Why don't we wait and see?" Wylie knew he was probably going to lose his job after this, but he was actually enjoying seeing Fox having to suffer just a little. He somehow knew Scott wouldn't cause Fox any harm.

Scott concentrated on the sphere and held his hand firmly over the injury. He breathed a sigh of relief when Fox quit struggling and passed out.

Wylie watched with fascination as the blood stopped oozing from the wound and quickly dried up. "Good work, Scott!" he complimented the boy.

"Thanks. I've got to go now," Scott said as he staggered to his feet. He still hadn't done anything about his own injury.

"Can I help you somehow, son?" Wylie asked with concern. "You're still bleeding." The pallor on the boy's face was appalling to the kind-hearted agent.

"No, but thanks, Mr. Wylie. Dad'll fix it for me," Scott said with assurance as he began to walk slowly away, reeling a little as he went. "Thanks for your help, too. I hope he's okay."

"He should be thanking you, Scott. I hope this changes his mind about you and your father," Wylie said earnestly.

"I doubt it will make any difference at all," Scott replied grimly, turning to look at Wylie. "Will you lose your job from helping me?"

"Probably."

"I'm sorry. I think the FSA needs more people like you, and a lot less people like Fox. At least you care."

"Thanks, Scott. He cares too, in his way. He just doesn't understand. I don't really understand either, but I think I'm beginning to, a little, anyway."

"When more people understand, then maybe we'll be able to live in peace," the boy murmured as he stumbled away from Wylie. "Bye, Wylie."

"Bye, Scott. Good luck."

"Thanks. We'll need it." Just then, he staggered and fell.

Wylie jumped up and ran to Scott's still form, holding the boy's limp body in his arms, tears threatening to spill from the husky agent's gentle brown eyes. "Come on, boy, I know you've lost a lot of blood, but you can make it. Where is that father of yours? He must have escaped by now. Where is he?" Wylie cried, looking around the area for signs of Forrester.

Suddenly a car squealed to a halt nearby. Paul jumped out of the passenger door with the still-lit sphere in his hand, closely followed by Jenny.

"What have you done?" Jenny cried as she quickly knelt by her son.

"Fox shot him. Scott stopped Fox's bleeding. He's a good kid," Wylie said miserably.

"Scott will be all right, Jenny," Paul assured her as he pocketed his sphere and lifted his son's still body from Wylie's arms. "Help me get him in the car." She moved back and held the car door as Paul tenderly carried his son over and laid him gently in the back seat. Paul smiled reassuringly at Teresa as she waited nervously behind the wheel. "I have something to take care of. I'll be done in a minute. Jenny, get in the car. I'll be right there." He walked back to Wylie and knelt by the unconscious Fox.

"What happened here is going to cause you some trouble, isn't it, Wylie?"

"What do you mean?"

"When Fox is better he'll probably only remember you helping Scott, not you and Scott helping him. I can do something that can fix that somewhat, if you'd like."

"Like what?"

"Do you want me to do it?"

"Sure, I guess. I would like to keep my job," Wylie said.

"Okay. He's about to wake up, so I should do it now. You go stand by the car."

"Okay," Wylie replied, confusion plain on his face.

Paul activated his sphere and began the illusion just as Fox woke up. Fox thought he heard Wylie tell Scott, "Good job, Scott. I'm sorry, but I am going to have to arrest you now." Then the illusion of Scott jumped up and ran. Fox then thought he saw Wylie chasing Scott, but, just as he was almost within an arm's length of the boy, Paul and the shadowy image of a woman appeared in a pickup truck and whisked Scott away. The illusion Wylie fired his gun at the departing truck, making holes in the body, but not stopping it. Then the illusion Wylie returned to Fox's side to check on his injury.

Paul had timed the illusion perfectly with Fox's return to consciousness, so Fox truly believed Wylie had tried his best to capture Scott. Then Fox was convinced that he had fainted just after Wylie returned to his side.

"He hasn't really fainted, you know," Paul assured Wylie. "He just thinks he has. He'll be himself again in a few minutes, which should give us enough time to get away from here. I hope this scene convinces him you did your best to catch us."

"It convinced me, and I knew it wasn't real!" Wylie replied in amazement. "You could have a whole new career as a magician, if you wanted," he continued with an amazed laugh.

"I think I'd rather just live quietly, Wylie. Thanks for your help. We have to leave now."

"Take care of that boy, Forrester. He's a good kid," Wylie said earnestly.

"Yes, he is," Paul agreed, reaching out to shake Wylie's hand. "Thanks for your help, Wylie. Bye."

"Bye." Wylie went and knelt by Fox's still form as the nurse drove the Forresters away.

"Wylie?" Fox said weakly, shaking his head woozily as he tried to wake up.

"Yes, sir?"

"Did you get them?"

"No, sir."

"Good try, Wylie. You need to practice your marksmanship on the range more often."

"I know, sir. You know how paperwork eats into practice time."

"Tell me something I don't know, Wylie. Let's find me a doctor, okay? I seem to have hurt myself somehow."

"Let me help you up, sir," Wylie said solicitously. He glanced in the direction the alien and his family had gone and smiled. 'Good work, Forrester,' he thought with relief, 'Fox doesn't remember what actually happened at all.'  
  
---  
  
Teresa drove steadily to the northwest, to throw Fox off their trail, putting many miles between them and the hospital while Jenny and Paul held their son in the back seat.

"Is he going to be all right?" Jenny asked anxiously as Paul worked over the still form of their son.

"Yes, sweetheart," he reassured her. "I'll have him well in a little while, but it will take longer than it took for me to heal myself. I'd already had surgery to remove the bullet and repair the damage. I just speeded up the healing. I have more to do on Scott, so it'll take a little longer. Just be patient."

"Is there anything I can do to help?" Teresa offered.

"No, I can handle it. Just find us a quiet place, like a patch of woods. I'll need some privacy for a while."

"There's a big orchard just ahead. I'll stop there, okay?"

"That will be fine, thanks." Teresa drove the car down a lane into the trees, out of sight of passing traffic.

Paul gently carried his son to the bed Jenny had made by laying blankets on a soft bed of long grass under the tallest of the trees.

"You should be getting back before someone connects you with our escape," Paul told Teresa. "You said there was a town with a bus station that wasn't a long walk from here. We'll be all right."

"It was the end of my shift anyway, and I checked out properly while Jenny and you were going down the stairs. I have plenty of time before I'll be missed. I'd like to watch how you do this, if you don't mind."

"Okay. Sit down. It will take some time." Paul had reactivated his sphere as soon as he sat by his son, and now lapsed into a concentrated silence. The two women sat and marveled as Paul's hand lit up bright red with sparkles of energy dancing around within the blue glow of the sphere. Paul sat motionless for hours as he eradicated the bullet, vaporizing every trace of lead from his son's body. He then repaired every nerve, every muscle fiber, every blood vessel, every tendon and sinew, until Scott's shoulder was completely whole from the inside out, as if it had never been injured. Paul sat back, exhausted.

"There. He'll be fine as soon as he finishes making some more blood so he gets his strength back." Paul covered his son tenderly, tucking the blanket warmly around his body, then stretched out on the ground beside the boy with a tired but relieved sigh, and relaxed.

Teresa cautiously moved the blanket and touched Scott's bare shoulder, which had been so recently torn by the bullet. The shoulder now showed the firm muscles and soft skin of a healthy youth, with not even a scar to show what the boy had so recently been through. Only the bloody sweatshirt now tucked under his head gave evidence to the shooting.

"Incredible," she breathed. "Can he do that for anything? Can he heal any kind of injury or illness?" she asked Jenny.

"I really don't know. I've never asked him about it. I know Scott said something about Paul healing me of being shot before, but I don't even remember being shot."

"You were," Paul said in an exhausted voice. "A policeman shot you with a shotgun when we were trying to get away from them in your Mustang. I didn't leave you any memory of it, because removing the pain also required removing the memory of what caused the pain."

"What ever happened to my Mustang, anyway?"

"I ran it into a gas tanker truck and it exploded and burned."

"Were we in it?" she asked incredulously.

"Yes."

"How did we get out?"

"I carried you. We came out in the protective barrier of blue light from the sphere like Scott did when his foster parents' car crashed. I found a truck carrying half a house on it and put you in there and spent the night making you well."

"That's when I woke up in your jacket! I wondered what happened. And then you left me and I had to chase you down". Why didn't you ever tell me about it?"

"I was afraid it would cause you pain," he answered gently, turning his head to look at her. The love in his eyes was plain for anyone to see. "I never wanted to cause you any pain, Jenny Hayden," he said solemnly.

"That's Jenny Forrester, and don't you forget it, buster!" she said seriously as she sat down next to him, leaning over to kiss his dear face. "I'll take you and keep you no matter what. Whatever pain there has been in my life, whatever has happened, whatever is going to happen, nothing else matters as long as I have you, my darling."

Paul reached up and wrapped his arms around his wife and held her tenderly to him, savoring the silkiness of her hair against his cheek. "I love you, Jenny."

"I love you, too, Paul." Jenny nestled her body closer to the man she loved, and relaxed against him contentedly.

Teresa watched this touching scene quietly, with tears streaming down her face. Something locked inside her seemed to open up as she saw the love and tenderness Paul and Jenny had for each other despite all they'd been through. She decided to be more openly caring to both her patients and her co-workers. Yes, she'd been hurt badly once for caring, but life went on, and it was much more fulfilling to care for people, even if it meant getting hurt sometimes, than it was to build a wall around herself. She'd learned a lot from this family, and she hoped she'd be a better person and a better nurse because of having met them.

"Mom?" Scott called weakly.

"Yes, honey, what is it?" Jenny asked eagerly as she leaned over her son, anxiously searching his face for any signs of pain or distress.

"What's for dinner? I'm starved!"

Jenny laughed through the tears suddenly streaming down her face. "I don't know, but we'll find something, don't worry!"

Teresa smiled at the reunion of mother and son, then turned to Paul, who had sat up when Scott wakened. "You have worked more than one miracle today, Mr. Forrester. Wherever you're from must be a very special place, because you are a very special person. If everyone there is like you, I hope more of you come here soon."

Paul smiled sadly and said, "I don't think there are going to be any more of my kind coming here for a long time, but thank you. Thank you, too, for all your help. We couldn't have done it without you." He reached out his arms and gave her a warm, gentle hug.

"I will never forget you. I'm sorry you were hurt, but I'm glad you wound up in my hospital so I could meet you. Good luck wherever you're going."

"Thank you. Be careful going home."

"I will. Good bye."

"Bye."  
  
---  
  
"I don't care what Dr. Douglas said, give me my pants!" Fox demanded of Teresa a few days later. She was working double shifts due to the nursing shortage, filling in on the surgical recovery wing on her extra shift.

"Dr. Douglas wants to keep you here a few days longer, so you're just going to have to stay here. I've locked your pants in the hospital safe, so if you decide to leave, Mr. Fox, you're just going to have to go with your fanny exposed to the breeze in one of our wonderful hospital gowns. Now lie down and be quiet!"

Fox lay back in the bed, growling under his breath, steam practically coming out of his ears as he watched Teresa bustle around the room, humming to herself as she made sure everything was in order, smacking Fox's hands away as he tried to keep her from adjusting his pillows.

Teresa wasn't taking any nonsense off of Fox, and took great delight in every encounter she was able to witness between Fox and Dr. Douglas. Those two were well matched in irascibility and their confrontations were becoming the stuff of legends in the hospital. Douglas was so furious at Fox's mistreatment of his patient and his high-handed behavior, he was doing all he could to thwart Fox in everything he wanted.

Fox really did need to rest after the surgery that had been performed to repair the damage from the self-inflicted gunshot wound. Douglas didn't miss a chance to rub it in that Fox had shot himself, too. That only made Fox more furious. The confrontations between Douglas and Fox made life around the hospital quite interesting for the staff these days.

Wylie entered the room just as Teresa was removing the thermometer from Fox's mouth.

"You don't need to take my temperature every five minutes!" Fox growled irritably.

"The way your temper boils over, I just want to see if it makes your blood boil too," Teresa countered sweetly. "I see that nice Mr. Wylie is here. You're so lucky to have such a congenial friend, Mr. Fox. I'll leave you two gentlemen to visit. Good day to you, Mr. Wylie," she said with a wink as she left the room.

Wylie grinned at Teresa as she left. She always found some way to make him laugh. Visiting Fox was only fun when Teresa was around. Watching her tease Fox was worth all the yelling Wylie had to take from Fox every time he came.

"Wylie, have you checked all the roads in the area?" Fox demanded.

"Yes, sir, I've done everything you asked, and they aren't around anywhere."

"They couldn't have vanished into thin air! Did you ever find out his wife's name? Is it Jenny Hayden?"

"It's Mrs. Forrester -- that's all anyone will tell me, sir," Wylie answered apologetically.

Fox seethed. His quest had been so close to its end he could smell victory, could taste it. He'd get the alien and his offspring yet, he knew it! He clenched his fist and pounded the bed in frustration. If only that idiot Wylie hadn't been too afraid of the sphere to keep it on his person! Putting it in the hospital safe may have seemed like a good idea to the ponderous-minded Wylie, but to Fox it bordered on sheer lunacy.

Wylie felt sorry for Fox, but knew there was no way to break through the wall Fox had built up in his mind about Forrester and the boy. In a way, it was too bad Forrester had done the illusion to save Wylie's job. Fox thought he'd dreamed about Scott sitting over him, working to stop the bleeding and pain. He refused to believe the one true thing that was in his memory from that incident. If Fox could only believe what the boy had done for him despite his own pain and fear, Wylie was sure Fox's attitude would change. Then again, maybe it wouldn't. This was, after all, George Fox he was thinking about. It was possible that nothing would ever change Fox's opinion of Forrester and the boy. Wylie settled back in his chair, ready for the next barrage of instructions Fox was bound to give him to continue the quest to find the alien.  
  
---  
  
"Think Fox will ever change his opinion of us, Dad?" Scott asked.

"No, son, probably not. I think you handled a difficult situation very well, though. You put someone else's welfare ahead of your own, and that takes a lot of courage and compassion. I'm really proud of you." Paul smiled at his son as he put his arm around the boy's shoulders. They had already been to Occidental Park to show Jenny where Scott first confronted his unique heritage and Paul started learning about being a father. Now, they were at the Seattle Center where Paul and Scott had first run from Fox and begun their search for Jenny. It was quite a tale.

"Boy, I've learned a lot about the sphere since you first lit it up in my hand in that park, haven't I?" Scott chuckled.

"Yes, you have," Paul agreed.

"When he did that, Mom, it scared me so badly I dropped the sphere and ran! It was just lucky that Liz found it and gave it to him."

"Yes. It was a good thing Liz explained to me about being a father, too, or I might not have followed you. I didn't know what to do when you ran away."

"I'm glad you found me, Dad," Scott said sincerely.

"Me too." They walked on together in comfortable silence, Paul and Jenny holding hands, Paul's arm around Scott's shoulders, enjoying the sights in the Center. Suddenly, Paul stopped as he recognized something.

"This is where Liz and I waited to meet you after you heard your mother's tape, Scott-Scott Hayden!" he said with a teasing grin.

"Hey, I wonder if my favorite group is still here?" he continued eagerly.

"What favorite group?" Jenny asked.

"There they are!" Paul answered with delighted. He walked his family over to listen to the group of young black men singing '50s style harmony.

"Now you know just how much he is into '50s music, Mom!" Scott said with a laugh.

"I always wondered where he came up with that 'do-whop-chee-wanny-wanny' stuff!" Jenny chuckled.

"Hey, Wylie said I should become a magician, but maybe I could be a park singer! What do you think?" Paul exclaimed with wide-eyed glee as he started to sing, "Do-whop-chee-wanny-OOF!"

"Dad," Scott exclaimed through his laughter, "that 'oof' wasn't very musical!"

"Neither was your mother's elbow in my ribs!" Paul said with a wounded look at his giggling wife. "I can take a hint! I guess you don't want me to be a singer, huh?"

"Maybe you'd better stick to photography, Mr. Forrester," Jenny laughed.

"Photography, huh? Maybe I'll try it sometime!" He rubbed his hands together excitedly as he glanced happily around at the people enjoying the sunny afternoon. "I guess now's as good a time as any! Where's my camera? I want to take pictures of my family in the park!" He snapped away as Jenny and Scott played on the swings and other play equipment. He grinned as he took picture after picture, then joined happily in their play.

Revisiting the park that lovely, peaceful afternoon was like bringing their family's history full circle. They had been through good times and bad, somehow managing to develop the strong bonds of love and trust that made three different people a family.

A group of kids playing volleyball recruited Scott as he and his parents walked by. He grinned happily as he placed himself in the middle line between two very attractive young ladies who seemed well pleased to have him there.

"What would you like to do now, Mr. Forrester?" Jenny asked as she linked her arm with Paul's.

"Well..." he began as he looked around the park. "Let's go sit over there," he smiled, leading her toward a small grove of trees.

"Why there? Don't you want to enjoy the sunshine?"

"More privacy!"

"Privacy? Why, pray tell, do you feel a need for privacy, dear sir?" she asked coyly.

"I've heard of this Earth custom I'd like to explore," he answered with a twinkle in his eyes and wiggling eyebrows, doing his 'Groucho' impression.

"What custom is that?" she asked, mystified. Then, with a 'the light dawned' expression in her eyes, she said, "Oh, are we going to check for moss on the north side of the trees?"

"Huh?" he responded, scratching his head in bewilderment. "Is that a custom too?"

"Okay, I give up. What custom?" she inquired innocently.

"Necking!" he leered, then swept her into his arms and carried her off to the woods.

Their laughter carried across the meadow to where Scott was playing with the other kids. He grinned at the sound of his parents' happiness, then fell in a laughing heap with the girl with whom he'd collided during a volley. Life could be such fun. He hoped it continued to be like this for a long time.

THE END


End file.
